


In Want of A Wife

by t_hanson



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Blood and Injury, Business, Drama, F/F, Family, Family Drama, Georgian Period, I just wanted vintage lesbians so here we are, Mental Health Issues, Politics, Romance, Slight mention of harm in the first chapter, Slow Burn, gay idiots, gentleman jack au, why not put two of my fave things together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2021-04-14
Packaged: 2021-04-17 22:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 65,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_hanson/pseuds/t_hanson
Summary: Miss Yvonne Davers returns home from Paris to find she has a new neighbour. Despite her wish to travel, as well as being in the midst of a new business venture, Yvonne finds herself meeting Miss Donoghue, even as she's tried her best to avoid her. This is my Bellow Gentleman Jack AU- I hope I do it more justice than the synopsis suggests.
Relationships: Blue Diamond/Yellow Diamond (Steven Universe)
Comments: 100
Kudos: 100





	1. Call The Doctor

Haynes Park was situated on a hillside; an inconvenient position to erect an estate and yet, it was no less impressive for it. Monumental, the manor could be seen from above the treetops that lined the nearby lane, its white-stoned exterior a striking contrast to the countryside surrounding it. Despite harbouring several adjacent fields for agriculture, the farms could not be seen, only the reticent solitude of the building itself and the sloping grassland around it, interrupted solely by the chirping of birds and the faint rustle of leaves. The sight caught Bonnie Donoghue’s eye as she passed, leaning closer to the window to catch a glimpse of its apathetic grandeur. 

“That is Haynes Park.”

Bonnie peered over her shoulder, as if she were noting the woman beside her for the first time. Somewhat true; she had hardly paid attention to what was being said. Her companion had struggled to remain silent for the entire journey and with nothing worth listening to, Bonnie had sat in sullen silence. She believed there to be more important matters at hand, or, at the very least, to discuss, but she hadn’t the nerve to say so. Owing her companion a great debt, Bonnie felt the older woman had the right to say whatever she wanted- a fact that Holly Ainsley used to her advantage. 

Having been Miss Donoghue’s childhood governess, she had managed retirement before returning years later at the news of the Donoghues’ passing. The couple had died from a smallpox infection whilst Bonnie was studying in Dublin, returning at the end of the year to find herself alone, barely a woman, and with a considerable fortune. Finding her old governess there, she employed her as a companion, though both often wished that were not the case. Not wanting to remain in her parents’ home, isolated with only the staff and Miss Ainsley as company, Bonnie had rented an estate in England by the recommendation of an old school friend. She had ignored the protests, of her friend and of Miss Ainsley, and chose a rural home rather than an apartment in London. The city was of no interest to her. 

“The home of the Davers family?” Bonnie inquired, a genuine interest arising for the first time that day. 

She quashed the delight she felt, having waited for an opportunity to broach the subject. Certain that Miss Ainsley would notice, there was a preference on the girl’s part that would be left to scrutiny and criticism. Bonnie had hoped that her associate’s broad knowledge of wealthy families would come to be of use, not wanting to explain why this particular home was of interest to her. Fortunate, as Miss Ainsley delighted in nothing more than common hearsay, leaning forward herself to catch a glimpse of the estate.

“Yes, that is correct. The Davers have lived here for five generations, though I believe they originated from Buckinghamshire. A fortuitous circumstance for the town, I should say. Without the Davers, the agricultural business would no doubt plummet- they are at the forefront of this town’s industry and with Lord Davers sadly passing away eleven years ago, it has fallen to the responsibility of the eldest daughter, Yvonne Davers. She is quite the woman.”

Bonnie drew her attention from Miss Ainsley to the window- the manor that lay in the distance, imperious in its precision. Her curiosity for the family was apparent; the feeling was so instinctive that she hardly noticed the honest sentiment that had settled in her expression, the way her gaze lingered. The landscape was beautiful, though she believed the estate to be the most pleasing of all. She expected no less from the likes of Miss Davers. Realising her distraction, Bonnie cleared her throat, humming a wistful agreement. 

“Yes, she is.” Having spoken too fervently, her cheeks reddened and she hurried to assure Miss Ainsley that her reaction was nothing out of the ordinary. “What I mean to say is that I have heard of her in passing. She came to Dublin four years ago and made quite the scene. My cousin met her there- Louisa? They were invited to dinner by a mutual friend, though I was not invited; I was too young at the time. Louisa had recently come of age and she had many a word to say when it came to Yvonne Davers.” She fell into contemplative silence, attempting a smile when she realised she had done so. “I have been wanting to meet her for quite some time now.”

“I would inquire into an audience for you, but they are private people and dislike being disturbed. They rarely allow for visitors.” This peculiarity offended Miss Ainsley, her hands clasping tightly together as if she had been personally slighted. “Despite their distinction, in fortune and trade, they are rather unusual. I can account for that much.”

A want for privacy seemed a harsh reason to ascribe them as odd, though Bonnie knew that, for the eldest Davers daughter at least, the word was more than fitting. She did not condemn her for it; rather, she was intrigued. During her cousin’s subsequent visit, seven years previous, she had detailed the fascinating and prominent life that Miss Davers had undertaken, much to the dissatisfaction of everyone else. Louisa seemed to agree with their objection, despite finding the woman charming, but Bonnie had been inspired by her worldly knowledge and vigour for life.

There was little to be said for the wilderness that she had inhabited during her childhood, remaining within the sheltered simplicity of their tower house, and the successive confines of Lough Leane and the desolate landscape that surrounded them. Ethereal in its natural simplicity, there was much to be admired in the castle and its neighbouring lakes, except there was no other person there for miles. Despite belonging to the gentry, the Donoghues were often mistaken for labourers and recluses. The family name would undoubtedly be insufficient in serving her at her new home, assured that the presence of an Irish neighbour would be unsettling, even with the knowledge of her stature and dowry. To think that Miss Davers was to be her neighbour imbued her with inexplicable relief. 

Bonnie repeated her concerns to her companion, neglecting to divulge her thoughts on Miss Davers. In response, Miss Ainsley snorted. If she were making light of the situation, she was doing a poor job of it, and her large hand slapped down on Bonnie’s knee, a gesture she did not appreciate. 

“Oh, my dear, you have much to learn. A young girl as comely as you and with the fortune that you have inherited… Once you are wed, nobody shall care.”

Marriage ensured that she would occupy an English name and with it, a position within the English aristocracy. Bonnie did not care for the name nor the stature, but in her saying as much, she would only serve to offend Miss Ainsley, who held great ambitions in her potential union. Her reasons for not wanting marriage would be questioned and she would find herself considered peculiar in her own right, a prospect that terrified her. Miss Ainsley would surely have a stroke if she were to hear Bonnie’s reasoning for leasing an estate directly in the heart of Bedfordshire, a decision that had baffled friends and relatives alike. 

Obscured by the grove which aligned the lane, Haynes Park drifted from view, despite Bonnie’s efforts to keep the manor in sight. Its striking white and black exterior was difficult to miss but within seconds, it had disappeared behind the tree tops. Disappointed, Bonnie withdrew, her back thudding against the carriage wall as she returned to irritable silence. Her earlier fascination was altogether gone, though that did not mean she thought any less of the estate they had left behind. 

In her agitation, she heard nothing of what Miss Ainsley said, staring obstinately at the black material that lined the carriage wall. Somewhere in the distance, she heeded the sound of a child playing. Bonnie’s curiosity was heightened by the zealous commotion, encouraged to find interest in something other than the interior of the coach. As the carriage drew closer, she hoped to catch a glimpse of the frivolity, finding that, when she did, a splintering sound, nauseating in its intensity, resonated in the otherwise quiet road. The carriage leant sideways, rolling over some object that lay in its path. Bonnie slid into Miss Ainsley’s side, despite her effort to remain upright. Expecting a chastisement, she found none; her companion unnerved into silence. The jolting motion of the carriage was accompanied by a blood-curdling scream and Bonnie felt her pulse quicken, realising the atrocity of what had happened. 

The coach came to a halt, the stamping of the horses’ hooves falling silent. From outside, the coachman could be heard shouting, an urgency in his voice that caused Bonnie to stand, crouching underneath the low roof. She flung open the door, her feet landing heavily in the dirt, fragments of grit flurrying around her polished boots and the hem of her skirt. Regardless, the only concern she held was for the boy who lay upon the ground, his unceasing screams resounding in her ears. He was hardly three feet from the carriage, and beside him, the coachman had crouched down to examine the injury. The driver noticed her approach, assuring her that she must return to her seat, an insistence that only served to incense her. 

“He needs assistance,” she contended, dropping to her knees. The sight of the boy weeping, his chest heaving sharply, caused her as much distress as he was surely feeling. “He needs it now.”

The coachman was panicked. “The town is some miles away; it is unlikely that we will get to the doctor’s in time. The boy will bleed out.”

His voice lowered towards the end, considerate, even in his alarm, for the boy’s feelings. Bonnie glanced across, seeing the crushed leg that lay limply on the dusted road. She winced at the hint of bone that jutted from beneath his tawny brown trousers, certain, from what she could perceive, that it was protruding from the middle of his thigh. For what she lacked in medical knowledge, Bonnie was sure that the child needed immediate surgery. It would be untrue to think that nothing could be done; Haynes Park was a short distance away, and they would have the tools necessary to care for the boy whilst waiting for the doctor. 

She turned to the driver, resolute. “You must go to Haynes Park. Whoever you find first, at the house or at the farm, you must bring them here and have them carry him to the house. Do you understand? We shall concern ourselves with the rest later. From there, we shall call for the doctor.”

He nodded frantically, twisting his cap between trembling hands before clambering to his feet.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The driver almost stumbled in his hurry, though he had a duty to the boy left amidst the dirt; he would not fail him more than he already had. Left alone, Bonnie carefully lifted the boy’s head, assuring him that all was well and that she had sent for help. He whimpered, occasionally crying louder, but he allowed his head to rest on her lap, the thickness of her skirt and undergarments allowing for comfortable padding. From the carriage window, she heard Miss Ainsley exclaim in horror. 

“Why, there is blood everywhere! How did we become involved in such a calamity? That man better return post-haste; he must answer for this transgression.”

Bonnie was certain that the boy had played his part, undoubtedly too transfixed in his game to care for the horses that headed his way. Nevertheless, it was a harsh consequence for his momentary distraction. She did not attempt to answer Miss Ainsley, whose head disappeared with a scornful huff. Instead, she continued to soothe the boy, hoping his screams would come to cease. They never did. 

Time and Miss Ainsley had a commonality, it seemed, for it was inconsiderate of the boy’s pain, unhurried in the duration it took for someone to arrive. Bonnie felt a faint discomfort in her legs as they stiffened to her position. She knew it was selfish to think of herself, however, when the boy had crushed his leg but her restlessness was borne from concern- for him, mostly, and for the tedious position that she had undertaken. 

Relieved, she heard the decrepit creak of a cart, the rattling of its wheels an indication of its frenzy in reaching the boy. Bonnie peered down, her hands that supported his head brushing reassurance with her thumb. She was unsure as to who the individuals were, precisely, but she told the boy that they had come, nonetheless. Observing his leg one last time, she doubted he would recover from the damage, though she trusted he would survive and for her, at least, that brought some solace. 

Three men sat atop the cart, her coachman at the back, and beside the handler was a young lady, who, at closer inspection, was merely a girl. She was no less determined, it seemed, for she was the first to leap from her seat, fussing over the boy, repeating his name as if he had forgotten who he was, before realising Bonnie was there. Her hazel gaze met Bonnie’s and she was momentarily bewildered at the sight of her, the astonishment disappearing with a loud whimper from the boy. The girl thanked Bonnie for her assistance, ushering her away, less a request than a demand. From her attire, it was clear that she was the youngest Miss Davers, unthinkable for a plain farmhand to wear such garments. This fact did not perturb Miss Davers, however, as she ordered him to be carried to the cart and taken to her estate. She cared little for the dirt that was smeared across her hands and skirt as she did so, mounting the cart once more to sit beside the boy, only to remember that Bonnie was still standing in the centre of the lane. As for Miss Ainsley, she had remained in the carriage, peering intrusively and unhelpfully from the window. 

“Miss Donoghue, I assume?” Miss Davers called across to them. “Your coachman will bring you to Haynes Park and we shall see to the boy there. You are very welcome to stay until we arrange for your carriage to be replaced. It appears that your wheel has been damaged.”

Before Bonnie could answer, the girl had fallen heavily onto her seat, the rose-coloured ruffles of her skirt quivering in response. Neither her nor the men acknowledged Bonnie further, the cart turning and darting down the lane. She watched them leave, remaining where she was, blinking from her reverie at the impatient call of Miss Ainsley. The coachman was waiting too, a nervous sweat beading at his brow. She said nothing when she entered the carriage, reassured to find that her custodian was too anxious to make conversation. They continued their journey in comforting, yet strained, silence, the slight tilt of the splintered wheel making for a precarious excursion. 

It had been an aspiration of Bonnie’s, in the past six years, to visit Haynes Park, reciting countless imaginings of how she would first come to be presented to the family, an obscure desire that she could not fully define. She felt it was inevitable that she should visit there and even more so that she would chance across the eldest Miss Davers. In spite of her unremitting fantasies, this option that now presented itself had never occurred to her; this was not the favourable circumstance she had hoped for. Quite the opposite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some quick notes- Penny Davers is Pink. And I hope it's clear Blue is Bonnie... As for Miss Holly Ainsley, that is Holly Agate.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter, and I'm aiming to publish two chapters per week as there's quite a few. I will only be publishing Volume I of my AU until I have written some more, as I want to be more confident of the story before I publish anymore. Just in case you were wondering why I stopped after a certain amount of chapters.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! And I look forward to sharing this with you all! Please let me know what you think :)


	2. She Is In Hastings

The boy was taken to the servants’ quarters, his unyielding howling passing from the grounds to the underbuilding. Carried from the cart to a bed- kindly submitted by one of the maids who they had passed in the servants’ hall- he was laid down carefully, the farmhands and Miss Davers fussing over him. She would often fixate on the thigh, purely by chance, simultaneously repulsed and inquisitive of the bone that had torn through the skin. Left unattended by the servants and with her mother’s wish that she remain in the house, Penny Davers had taken to exploring the various journals that had been left in her sister’s study, half of which were medical. She was not a nurse, though she believed herself to be one. 

“I have asked Mrs Prescott to call the doctor and he is on his way,” she told the men, stepping back from the turmoil that had surrounded the bed. From where she stood, she could see the scattered streaking of blood on the sheets. “Maintain pressure on his upper thigh and do not, under any circumstances, remove it until the doctor is here. We want to prevent any further blood loss.”

They emitted a synchronous response, to which she was satisfied, and she excused herself to speak to their coachman. Finding him in the yard, apologetic in being found smoking- it was not yet his work break- they reached an agreement that he would continue the journey to Miss Donoghue’s residence with their private carriage. Penny was satisfied that she had done all that was necessary, returning upstairs to the drawing room where she was certain her mother would be. 

Usually situated in her upper chambers, Lady Davers made an exception for house guests; yet, there was no exemption for business nor pleasure, not even for her daughters. The baroness was disgruntled, uncertain as to why there were visitors in her home. To no avail, Miss Ainsley had tried to clarify the situation but Lady Davers simply became agitated, the slightest improvement to her mood appearing in the form of her daughter. Penny flounced into the drawing room, her short reassurance of the boy’s condition interrupted by her mother.

“I think some brandy will calm our nerves,” Lady Davers stipulated, her long thin cane thrusting outward as she spoke. It gestured sharply in the direction of the drink’s cabinet. 

Penny refrained from commenting, knowing that her mother was concerned for her own nerves, more so than the two women who had been involved in the collision. Leaning on the back of the chesterfield, the one which they sat upon, she tilted her head to capture Bonnie’s attention. 

“Would you like a drink, Miss Donoghue?”

Startled that she had been asked, Bonnie looked upward, a flustered smile appearing. “Oh, that would…”

“No brandy for Miss Donoghue,” came Miss Ainsley’s objection. “She can hardly stomach it, but I shall be more than happy to have one.”

Penny hesitated, her gaze lingering on her guest as if inquiring as to whether that were true. Bonnie’s smile did not hide her dismay and she turned her attention to her lap, whatever thoughts she had remaining unsaid. Perturbed, Penny watched her a second longer, hoping to offer a solution, but she felt Miss Ainsley watching her and she decided against it. If she were to contradict their visitor, Lady Davers would be incensed.

She went to the cabinet, pouring three glasses from the decanter. From behind, she could hear Miss Ainsley blathering to her mother. What Lady Davers had to say, for once, was not expressed and she sat in pensive silence. Wrapped in her white shawl, her dour expression was the only part of her that was not concealed, her pewter grey skirt barely covering the wheeled seat that she sat upon. Blinking slowly, she may have neglected all that was said by the governess; her impassiveness made for uncertainty. 

“When I thought there was no hope- poor Bonnie having to sit with the wretched thing- there she came. How quickly she rushed to help him and for a moment, she looked so courageous. She was a sight, I tell you.”

In hearing this tale, Lady Davers did not seem to realise that Miss Ainsley was referring to her daughter. She stared at the woman, the only indication that she was alive being in her quick movement when the brandy was offered to her. Her thin fingers hooked around the glass, her translucent skin revealing the veins that punctuated her hand. Neither she nor Miss Ainsley noticed that three glasses had been poured, one left at the cabinet. Both sipped their drinks, Lady Davers smacking her lips together in satisfaction. 

Penny watched them, peering down at Bonnie a moment later, an implied understanding passing between them. She had come to stand behind the two, hoping that a closeness between the guests would allow for conversation. Not that it appeared to matter, Miss Ainsley began again, indifferent to the brandy she had been given when there was a story to tell. 

“Miss Davers, of all people!” she exclaimed, chuckling to herself. “I could not believe my very eyes. We were in luck, I thought, for there is no better reassurance than knowing that the Davers have come to aide us.”

Flattered, Penny beamed, her fingers gripping onto the back of the guest’s seat in the hope that her mother would be pleased in hearing such admiration. Lady Davers said nothing and what Miss Ainsley mentioned next served to undermine Penny’s heroic deed. 

“Why, when she came up the hill, she could have been mistaken for her sister. Miss Yvonne Davers has always had an aptitude for gallantry, so I’ve heard; a feature that I very much admire in her.”

At the mere mention of the eldest sister, Bonnie raised her gaze from her lap to the woman beside her, eyes widening. She craned her neck forward in a way that suggested she was trying to hear better, resolved to hear each word that was said. Behind them, Penny ground her teeth, irate that, even in her sister’s absence, she was compared to Yvonne. Her resentment went unnoticed- Bonnie was preoccupied, Miss Ainsley was still talking, and as for Lady Davers, she may as well have stayed in her room for the contribution she made to the conversation. 

“Speaking of Yvonne, where is she currently residing?” Miss Ainsley inquired.

Bonnie’s attention flickered between her custodian and Lady Davers, incapable of deciding who deserved her consideration in the matter. Lady Davers, on the other hand, was abruptly forced into the conversation, pausing in her attempt to finish the brandy. 

“Yvonne?” She scoffed sharply, a sideways shift of her eye that testified to her feelings on the matter. “That mountain air must have affected her brain; she seems to have forgotten she has a mother.” A strained silence ensued, which encouraged her into adding- “She was meant to return from Paris six weeks ago but she decided to stay with Miss Langdon a little longer, a friend of hers who she accompanied there. We have received no more word from her. I suppose one is busy when they have nothing to do all day but socialise with friends.”

Penny leant down, restless to add her own contribution. The two guests peered over their shoulders to listen. “She is in Hastings. Isn’t that right, mother?”

Lady Davers finished her brandy, her hand dropping to her lap, the empty glass still clutched within her grip. 

“What was that?!” she hollered, squinting across at Penny. “Are we still talking about Yvonne? She is in Hastings, staying at Miss Langdon’s home.”

Penny stood upright, shouting equally loud. 

“Yes, I already told them.” Leaning back down, she whispered directly to Bonnie. In doing so, she displayed a deliberate disregard for Miss Ainsley and her presence. “She’s deaf.”

“Did you say she was still there?” came the wheezing interjection. 

Punctuating her words, Penny slowly called out- “Yes, mother. Yvonne is still in Hastings!”

Lady Davers huffed loudly, sinking slightly into her chair. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Heavens knows why she is there. What could they possibly have in Hastings to keep her occupied? Not even Miss Langdon is that interesting.”

She did not hear the faint snicker from Penny, though the other two did. Bonnie glanced up at her, questioning, though her action sobered Penny immediately. The girl stared ahead as if she had never laughed in the first place. To divert Bonnie’s attention, she pressed on, voice raising so her mother could hear.

“She went to Paris as a companion for Miss Langdon, isn’t that correct? A chaperone of sorts.”

“Yes, she did.” Lady Davers raised her gaunt arm, jiggling the empty glass in the air. She did not finish until Penny had taken the glass from her. “They were to go for eight months and stay in the city. She went to the Embassy, you know! Prince Louis Phillipe was there; he even danced with Miss Langdon, so I am told. Why her, we will never know, but he did. The two were meant to return together and as we awaited her arrival, we received a letter saying that they were to remain in Paris. That is, until four weeks ago. She returned with a mutual friend- I forget the name- but they stayed at Miss Langdon’s home, while the lady herself went on to Italy. They have been in Hastings since.

“Not that she cares for me and my needs, but I would have liked for her to return immediately. That girl holds no regard for her poor mother or her nerves. They shall be gone altogether by the time she decides to arrive here, though that shall be never, I suppose- the way she writes to me.”

Bonnie glanced behind her when hearing the return of Penny and her faint murmur- “And what about my nerves?”

They shared another look, which served to amuse them and they turned away with a barely repressed smirk. Bonnie felt better for it, although she had slowly become distressed at the news. There was to be no Miss Davers and to make matters worse, she had been in Paris with one friend, only to return to England with another. She agreed with the baroness- what could possibly interest Miss Davers in Hastings? Surely, there was nothing there that she could not find at her family home. Bonnie would not believe it, a vehement reassurance on her own part. 

Lady Davers pressed on, a deliberation with herself that revealed this was not the first time she was inconvenienced by Yvonne’s absence. “That is, of course, if we were to forget that she has a duty to the town and to this home. She should be here as oft as she can; this is her estate, after all, and our farms belong to her. We should know; she never tires of reminding us.” 

There was a fleeting moment of silence. Miss Ainsley could hardly believe her fortune in hearing such an account; she would be sure to share the news with whoever she happened to see that week. Beside her, Bonnie was grieved into silence, regret arising in the wake of Lady Davers’ tirade. She questioned if she had been mistaken in agreeing to live there; it hardly seemed to matter that she was near Haynes Park if their host was correct in her assumption. Regarding Penny, she was as exasperated as her mother, though they could never agree on which aspect. She, too, was waiting for the return of her sister and with a faint flicker of hope, she attempted a smile.

“But she will be returning!” she exclaimed happily. “She wrote to us earlier this week. Whatever business she was attending to in Hastings, it is over and she shall be here soon, no later than a few days. She is already on her way.”

Bonnie’s momentary grief was dashed and she imitated a smile, a thrill rising as it did in Miss Davers, though they did not share the same reasons for it. That was thwarted when Lady Davers scoffed. 

“Not for long. She will stay awhile, recover from her travels, and then she will be gone again. Yvonne rarely stays for more than eight weeks if she can help it.” Even in her derision, Lady Davers leant forward, a boastful smile appearing. “She has been travelling across Europe. She has been to Paris, the Pyrenees, Italy… Why, she told me she was hoping to visit Russia next.”

“Russia!” Bonnie exclaimed, quite by accident. 

She had sounded impressed, but with each word that was spoken by their host, she felt her heart sinking further into her chest. It was inconceivable for her to travel there- for what she had in money, she lacked in nerve. Long-distance travel did not agree with her and, in return, she did not agree with it. To reside there, she was sure it would take longer than a year and in the meantime, Bonnie would be left to wait in her new home, the one which she had purposely chosen in England.

“Russia would be wonderful,” Miss Ainsley was saying. “Perfect for the upcoming winter, and I suppose she would not be alone. It would be a pleasure to make her acquaintance whilst she was here but I can understand her hurry if she is hoping to pave her way in Russia.”

Bonnie wished her companion had said nothing, staring at her in astonishment, lips parted as if she were to contend such claims. Then she turned back to Lady Davers, to Penny, in the hope that one of them would dispute the allegations. Her hands gripped together, waiting for a response that would never occur, and she blinked rapidly, gaze flickering around the room. Penny watched her, curious. As she did, she felt an indescribable delight arise, an instinctive reaction to Bonnie’s silent anguish, and she bit down on her lip to prevent another giggle. 

“Well, she would have to return,” Lady Davers remarked. “The silly girl needs a new groom- she only went and shot hers…”

“Out of a tree!” Penny added enthusiastically. 

“Shot?” Bonnie breathed, her questioning gaze landing on Miss Ainsley, mainly in the hope that she would provide answers to this bizarre discussion.

Miss Ainsley appeared equally dumbfounded, her thick neck craning forward as she stared at Lady Davers. Brow furrowed, she must have hoped for clarification, only to find that none came. 

“How?” she probed. 

“I am not sure.” Lady Davers fell into reticence, implying that she was musing over the matter. For the first time during their visit, she looked amused. “It may be why she is returning- I believe the body has made its way overseas and will be brought here for burial. She probably shot the poor bugger herself.” She paused to cackle. “In any case, she will be here because something went wrong in Paris. I am not so ignorant as to think she was staying in Hastings for the fun of it, not without Miss Langdon. No, she is coming home because she has nowhere else to go. And who am I to turn her from her own home?”

Reaching across to the table beside her, she seized a small golden bell, ringing it furiously. Her nurse rushed into the room, quickly wheeling the baroness from their company. Little was said in ways of goodbye, an event that did not cause offense. Miss Ainsley was beside herself with glee at what had been discussed, and as she attempted her final form of flattery, Bonnie felt a tap at her shoulder. Peering behind, she noted the glass of brandy before she did Miss Davers. 

“Quickly,” Penny urged. 

Lady Davers was preoccupied with exiting the room, waving Miss Ainsley away with the flick of her cane. Despite her irritability, the governess continued to bow after her. Sensing her advantage, Bonnie did not hesitate, finishing the drink in one sip. Her cheeks flushed, her hand pressing to her chest as the warmth spread through her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Penny returned the glass to the silver tray at the cabinet, gesturing for Bonnie to follow her as she passed. She hauled her from the seat, taking her to the foyer where Miss Ainsley had migrated, calling after Lady Davers. Once she was satisfied that the baroness could no longer hear her, Miss Ainsley curtseyed to Penny, a motion that caused her to glance in Bonnie’s direction, brows raised. 

“I have arranged for my chaise to take you the rest of the journey,” Penny remarked. “Your coachman has agreed to stay with the boy for the time-being, as the doctor and constable will need his account, so you can have mine. He is awaiting you now.”

Bonnie was indebted, for the assistance and for the kindness she had been shown- at the very least by Miss Davers. She thanked her several times to which Penny thought nothing of it. With a hurried farewell in Miss Ainsley’s direction, Penny guided them to the carriage, clinging onto the window-frame as they seated themselves.

“I hold every hope that we will meet again, Miss Donoghue,” Miss Davers simpered, her rounded face peering up in delight. “Once my sister has arrived, you shall find our company most captivating, I am sure. We make quite the pair. Do not be a stranger here; I forbid it.”

“I would not wish for anything else.”

Bonnie reciprocated her polite wave as they continued their journey, neglecting to listen to Miss Ainsley’s opinions as they were taken from the grounds, particularly when she remarked at how nice it was to ride in such a lavish carriage. The quip was intended for Bonnie, though she did not care for it. 

Miss Donoghue was preoccupied with the events of that day- the accident and most notably, the current whereabouts of the eldest Miss Davers. She was returning; that was what she had been told. Bonnie was agitated at the thought, knowing that it was partly due to her zealousness. Yvonne Davers was returning to Haynes Park. Whatever the reason, Bonnie hoped that she was not wounded, in any sense of the word- that would grieve her. Withal, anguished or not, Bonnie prayed that this time, Yvonne Davers would find a reason to stay. If she did not, Bonnie was unsure what else there was to do- she had not travelled all that way to be subject to Miss Ainsley’s attempt at social sophistication, nor had she arrived for its agricultural industry. Bonnie would have her way and if it were not possible, well, she had not considered her intention any further than that. If she were to fail, it would only devastate her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pink and White have finally made a proper appearance; hope you enjoyed them as much I enjoyed writing them.


	3. A Reckless Undertaking

Sitting atop the window sill, leaning back into the wall, Penny Davers had resigned herself to doing little else. She had come to rest there and she would not be moved, vexed at her mother’s insistence that she remove herself at once. Lady Davers had demanded that she be wheeled into the drawing room solely to chastise her daughter and, satisfied that Penny had come down from the window sill, requested a relocation to the veranda. Penny waited till she had gone before circling back to the window. Staring out onto the drive, she was restless but resolute, having performed this ritual more times than she cared to admit. 

At the slightest sound, she jolted forward, the rustle of her dress an indication to the thrill she was feeling, merely to find it had been nothing of interest. She wished to hear one sound and one sound only- the clattering of carriage wheels as they approached the estate. Two years had been too long, enough for her to concede that she was driven to insanity. In a letter, she had expressed this sentiment, an explicit plea to be taken from the family home. 

_It may be selfish on my part to call you home, but I find, dear sister, that it is you who is selfish. Mother grows wearier by the day and hour, and you have left me here to suffer- either bring me to France or come home. _

She awaited a response, finding that her endeavour had been successful. Yvonne was to travel to England at once, returning to her rightful home at Haynes Park. Penny had been delighted, though she found herself to be less pleased when she discovered what had come to pass in Paris. There had been no clarification on her sister’s part for, whilst she travelled, she refused to stay in any place longer than a day. What had been rumoured was simply hearsay from one lady’s maid to another, and Penny was insulted that she must hear as such from a conversation between the laundry maid and her cook. It seemed Yvonne was not returning out of duty or want, but from necessity, and Penny despised her for it. 

Spurned or not, Penny could not deny that she had missed her sister, wishing to hear first-hand the travels that she had embarked on- from the Pyrenees to the Belgium capital, Bruges. She had received a letter eleven months previous, detailing an event at the British Embassy where Yvonne had chanced across Prince Louis Phillipe. When asked in a returning letter if she had been impressed, the woman had simply stated that she had not been- he was beastly and boorish. Penny would have liked to dance with him, nonetheless, and she received no response, though she was satisfied that she had expressed her feelings on the matter. 

From afar, the rattle of wheels could be heard against the gravel, the stomping of hooves followed by an unmistakable whinny. The rustle of skirts resounded once more as Penny sat upright, nose almost to the glass. In the distance, the distinct form of a carriage could be seen and at the helm, a tall figure sat atop the box seat, reigns in hand. 

“Oh, she’s here! She’s here!”

Penny addressed no-one but herself, satisfied in articulating her elation, even if she had not been heard. Indifferent to the scene she caused, Penny clambered from the sill, skirts bunched in hand whilst she dashed from the room, through the foyer, and out onto the stone steps. Behind her, the staff could be heard doing the same, awaiting the arrival of their mistress. 

The plain carriage shuddered in both directions, implying that it may have been ready to fall in its hurry, and the vehicle jolted slightly into the air as it rounded the corner. Penny was impatient, even at the urgency of the speeding cart, wishing that it would arrive a little faster. It took mere seconds for it to scramble to a halt before her, residues of dust from its wheels hovering in the still, spring air. Penny squinted upward, as if she were looking into the sun itself. From the box seat, a pair of hazel eyes stared ardently down, amused, despite the circumstance. Yvonne did not say she would rather be in Paris but Penny knew; her silence was the answer. 

“Curious that we should meet here of all places,” came the witticism, a timely distraction from Penny’s tacit resentment. 

“Yvonne!” she called up, her ill-feeling overwhelmed by her ecstasy. 

She reached for her hand, Yvonne obliging by offering hers and the two grasped each other tightly. An earnest smile appearing, the elder seemed to forget, for the time being, the reason she had returned to her family, to a town that she had studiously evaded for the past ten years, only to find herself back there. It appeared inconsequential to the girl that clung to her hand. 

“Penny,” she returned with as much affection. Voice sterner, she swung her legs from the box and dropped to the ground, dust arising once more, powdering her black boots and the hem of her flared frock-coat. “Where is mother?”

Penny allowed the kiss to her cheek, exhaling heavily to indicate what she thought of the subject. “She is on the veranda.”

“And she is well?”

“As well as she could ever be.”

Yvonne’s gaze was warning, removing the top hat that she oft adorned, tucking it under her arm. “Yes, well, I am pleased to hear that. I thought that if anything were to happen while I was travelling back, I would have to wait to hear it.”

“What is there to happen? She is no more contemptuous than when you left.” 

Slowly licking her lips, her good-humour receding, Yvonne contemplated what had been said, attention drawn to their personal carriage which sat on the drive. 

“What is that doing there?” she glowered. “And why is he out?”

She gestured toward Claudio, one of their horses, who was being led to the outer field. 

“Our new neighbour borrowed the chaise. Yvonne, you must meet her…”

“And what of the horse?”

The edges of Penny’s mouth downturned. “He has been unwell.”

Yvonne turned back to her, no attempt spared in concealing her aggravation. Then she seemed to remember herself, gaze softening as she recalled he was Penny’s favourite horse.

“Why unwell?” she prompted.

“We are not sure; he needs to be examined.” Penny looked as if she were to cry, inhaling sharply through her nose. 

Exhaling, Yvonne leant forward, an attempt to look her sister in the eye. “Then I shall examine him.”

Penny forgot her dismay, reaching out to cling onto her arm. “Oh, you will? Thank you, thank you!”

Despite her glare, Yvonne emitted a brief laugh, removing her arm from her grasp. She plucked the gloves from her hands, passing them to the young man that had approached. Thanking him, she listed instructions for the stable boys that had come to take the horses, informing them of her journey and what was to be done for them. Penny flitted nervously behind her, the conversation reminding her that they must advertise for a new groom, a thought that she mentioned to Yvonne. At the mention of her deceased servant, Yvonne merely hummed an acknowledgement.

“It is a shame to hear of his passing,” Penny pressed on. “We were all in shock when we heard the news and to think his suffering was prolonged over three more days...” 

She waited for her response, knowing that her sister had not cared for the man, yet wishing to observe her reaction. Yvonne was apathetic to the subject, spinning on her heel to return to the carriage. Calling behind her, she was courteous at best. 

“Yes, it was unfortunate.”

Penny followed her, resolved that they were to have the discussion, whether she preferred to or not. “And where is the driver, Yvonne? Did you not hire one? Surely you did not travel here by yourself?” 

“I did have a driver.”

Penny looked around her. “Where?”

“He hurt his arm near Luton...”

“Luton?”

“Yes, as I said.” Yvonne turned to her, agitated that they were to have this conversation. “He struck a pothole and fell from his seat, where upon he dislocated and shattered his arm. Besides, I promised, did I not, that I would return today? And here I am.”

Penny tried to contend. “That was a reckless undertaking, Yvonne.”

Yvonne exhaled heavily, arms folding and gaze flickering to the corner of her eye. “Nobody else was there to arise to the occasion. There was only the three of us; I decided to take matters into my own hands. I drive well enough, although I may have mounted a pavement or two on the way, but that is hardly of any consequence. I took him to the doctor, ensuring all was well before finishing the remainder of the journey alone. Well, alone in driving.”

“Three of you?” Penny realised. 

Patting the trunks that lay atop the carriage, Yvonne called across to the servants who awaited her. 

“Take my trunk.” Satisfied, she took hold of the carriage handle, opening the door. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

Penny had expected the stranger to be a woman, although she did not expect a girl to climb from the coach, her chest heaving as her thin, trembling arms failed to aid her down. Yvonne held out her hand, her firm hold allowing the newcomer to reach the floor. 

“This is Paulette. I acquired her whilst in Paris; she is my new lady’s maid.”

Scrutinising the girl as she doubled over, hand pressed against her stomach, Yvonne inquired into her well-being. She spoke in French, an indication that the new maid could only converse in her native tongue. 

“Bonjour,” Penny offered, “Bienvenue chez nous_(1)_.”

Paulette raised her head, attempting a smile before she bent over once more, an abhorrent amount of fluids spilling from her mouth to the driveway. Yvonne grimaced, though she was not offended, whilst Penny stepped back, appalled. Her sister leant over, close to the girl’s ear, hands curled at her hips.

“On m'a dit que tu étais un bon voyageur_(2)_,” she remarked. 

Upon hearing no response, aside from the piteous look that Paulette adopted- her stomach continuing to empty itself- Yvonne hummed in thought. 

“I thought I was quite capital at driving. The coachman retched on the way here but I assumed that was due to his broken arm.” Pausing, she watched the girl for a moment, a question in her gaze; there was an astuteness to Yvonne that her sister could never quite place nor comprehend. With a boisterous laugh, she slapped Paulette on the back. “You shall feel better soon; no use pondering on it now.”

Her attention had lapsed from her maid, spinning once more on her heel and striding towards the house, her tailcoats fluttering in the light breeze, encouraged by the fast tempo of her legs. Penny followed, unabated in having to say all that she must. 

“Did you not think that people would talk? More than they already do? Why did you not stay in Luton until a safer means of travel was arranged? I could have sent the carriage to you.”

Yvonne did not respond, although she took a moment to greet the maids and Mrs Prescott. The maids tittered between themselves whilst the Housekeeper allowed for her hand to be kissed.

“We are thrilled that you have come home, ma’am. It has not been the same without you.” Mrs Prescott was sceptical herself, adding: “It was a shame to hear of your groom.”

Humming absently, Yvonne continued towards the door, equipped with another listless response. “A shame, really.”

Following at her heels, Penny passed through the front entrance and into the foyer, her petite stature unable to match the strides of her older sister, the longness of her limbs sorely felt in the girl’s pursuit. 

“You have returned from Paris, ridden your own carriage, and whilst doing so, you forbid me from doing anything, least of all leaving the house.” She became breathless in her hurry, aided mainly by her irate shout. “If you are able to ride a carriage, why, I may take ours to town.”

Yvonne turned to her, a tenacity in her stare. “No.”

Penny halted, having nearly walked into her. “And furthermore, you went hunting whilst you were away. That is how Walcott was fatally wounded, was it not? You were able to handle a firearm and in spite of that fact, you never let me participate in anything, particularly not hunting.”

“That is because you are a liability.”

“Poor Penny,” she exclaimed, hysterical in her theatrics. “What does it matter if she is disposed of, left to waste her youth with her unfeeling mother? Her sister is unfeeling too.”

Her petulance was unintended but it was existent, nevertheless. She had watched her sister recount stories of Europe, of Asia, and the wild escapades that she had committed whilst she was there, and Penny waited for her- for her letters, her well-wishes, the promise that she would one day join her. Yvonne understood her distress, yet she was no more inclined to include her than before.

“Cynicism does not become you, Penny.”

“And sounding like mother does not become you.”

Yvonne inhaled sharply, hand pressing to her chest. “How your words hurt me.”

“How you hurt me,” Penny replied, a sincerity in her teasing. 

Her insult was suppressed, for the moment, amused to return to their farcical rapport, knowing that there was latent remorse in the way her sister spoke. Yvonne felt deeply, though not openly, and she suffered all the more for it. 

She felt Yvonne take her hand, pouting, eyelids fluttering. “Let us be friends, Penny. Please? Today and if you feel so kind, tomorrow?”

“We are friends as much as we are sisters.”

“Now seems to be the time to tell you that you were given to us by the scullery maid.”

Walking into her side, deliberately, Penny watched Yvonne stumble, astonished for the slightest second, her bewilderment followed with a barking laugh. Encouraged, Penny clung onto her arm, head resting against it; she was not gifted with the height her sister had, and they walked together, laughing between themselves.

“I have missed you,” Penny told her. “Please stay this time.”

“I cannot promise.”

Raising her head, she protested wildly, shaking her arm. “Why? Is this not enough? Am I not enough? How could you leave me here with mother? You keep leaving and never coming back, and I must simply wait here for you until eventually, I am married off.”

Yvonne was remorseful, as she often tended to be, though she made no promise. She never did. 

“I really am sorry, Penny.”

“If you were sorry then you would take me with you…”

“You know why I forbid you from travelling with me.” Yvonne fell silent, wishing the conversation to be over, but Penny was not finished.

“Yes, but you know that I could never criticise you, not for what transpires between you and your companions. It is no concern of mine if…”

“Penny, that is enough.”

They came to the veranda, a stretch of balcony that overlooked the gardens of the estate, and to the side, they observed their mother. Lady Davers appeared to be asleep, though she responded instantly to the kiss that Yvonne pressed to her curled, white hair. As she did so, Penny called to a passing Mrs Prescott. Having waited for Yvonne’s arrival, there was no need to postpone dinner and all three women would be glad to eat immediately. 

“Ah, it’s you.” Lady Davers looked up from the corner of her eye, no more pleased to find that both of her daughters were present. “Have you come to see me, hm? You decided to spare five seconds in entertaining me? Suppose that is a wise decision, since you shall not return again until I am dead.”

“Mother!” Penny berated, troubled mostly by her sister’s sensibility than Lady Davers’ tartness. 

Yvonne was staring at her mother, a contemplative look upon her features that implied she was observing a wild creature rather than an elderly lady. She sat beside her, endeavouring a brief attempt at a smile, one leg coming to rest atop the other. Placing her hat on the circular table between them, she positioned her elbows on the armrests, pressing her fingers together. 

“No, I am here to stay awhile.”

“Really?” Lady Davers scoffed. “A Paris tragedy, was it?”

Yvonne revealed no sentiment other than indifference, though a twitch appeared at the corner of her mouth. “I would not say that... I came to spend time with my family, with the both of you. If that is of no consequence to you, mother?”

Lady Davers stared out into the garden, more interested, it seemed, in the flowers. “This is your house, sunlight. You may go as you please.” 

Yvonne stood, a movement that happened to capture her mother’s attention. 

“You are an astute girl, despite your oddities, and it is disparaging to see that you have failed to better yourself when opposed with your previous blunders.” Lady Davers squinted up at her, a sharpness in her gaze that reflected her words. “You say that no tragedy has occurred, yet I am inclined to disagree. This is the second time, to my knowledge, that you have made such an error and I have to wonder when you will learn your lesson?”

Breathless, Penny was unsure of who to focus on- her mother or her sister, composed but aloof. Nothing was said, only the sound of Yvonne’s pantaloons as they brushed together, brisk in her attempt to return to the house. She tucked her top hat under her arm, calling out to any person who may hear her. 

“I am starved; when is dinner to be served?” There was a second of silence, before- “Where is Paulette?”

Perspiring, gasping for air, the young maid was hoisting one of Yvonne’s suitcases to the fourth floor. She had been led to her own room in the servant’s quarters, permitted, for two minutes, to use the outside lavatory where she regurgitated the last of her illness, leaving the wooden shack to be promptly handed a suitcase. Instructed to follow the porter upstairs, she could hardly hold onto the handle for the trembling in her fingers and she often paused, to gain breath and to rest her hand against her stomach. Paulette appealed to her own reason, inquiring as to how she had found herself there, incapable of expressing her distress to the staff. Only Mrs Prescott could speak French. 

Chapter Notations

1\. Welcome to our home.  
2\. I was told that you were a good traveller.


	4. Icarus

To the left was Penny, a ravenous speed to her movement, the spoon flitting between the broth and her mouth in a similar way to the farmers as they shovelled manure from the pigpen. She was apathetic to the way she ate, more so in the way her sister was staring at her. Across the table, to the right, was Yvonne, a delicate dignity in the way she dined. She glanced towards her mother, convinced that she would be equally affronted by this vulgar display, merely to find, as she did, that the baroness was unperturbed by her daughter’s behaviour. Lady Davers disinterest may have also been ascribed to her difficulty in eating; stooped over her bowl, her spoon quivered in the space between the food and her mouth. The sight unsettled Yvonne, content to neglect any indication of her mother’s ageing. 

Gaze lowering, she took notice of the untouched bread before her and the butter dish that had been placed in the centre of the table. She leant across to retrieve the plate. Penny’s chair was heard scraping backwards in concurrence with Yvonne removing the china covering, and the girl took half of the butter with her, balancing it precariously on the end of her knife. To such an event, Penny was pleased, smiling at her sister, despite the scowl she received for her trouble.

Buttering the bread, Yvonne raised a hand, brushing it distractedly through her short hair. A tendril had fallen outward, grazing against her brow as it often did, and rather than styling it differently, she had taken the habit of sweeping it into place on a regular basis. The motion caught her mother’s attention, her jittering spoon left to rest in the bowl. 

“What happened with the groom- Walcott?” Her voice rose, a habit that was often ascribed to the fact that she could not hear herself. Lady Davers glanced across, squinting; the gesture exposed her difficulty in discerning the precise whereabouts of her daughter’s face, including the expression that was currently upon it. “Do you believe that you can simply shoot a servant and I will allow it? Firstly, you take half of them with you to Europe, leave the maintenance of the estate and its land to some buffoon- rather than operating them yourself- and now you think that you are at liberty to shoot them! That was a waste of a good servant. How did it even happen?”

“He was in a tree,” Penny stressed, interjecting Yvonne as she simultaneously answered- “It was an accident!” 

Penny leant on the table, believing that her mother would hear her better if that were the case. Situated at the head, Lady Davers was unable to hear nor perceive them any more than she usually did.

“I read you the letter, mother!” Penny hollered. “Do you remember?” She sat back, head shaking in a form of reparation to Yvonne. “I read the letter you sent; she must not have been listening.”

This fact did not come as a revelation to either of them. To the side, Lady Davers had finished deliberating on what Penny had said.

“No,” she decided. “I do not remember.”

Yvonne was sombre as she leant backward, slouching in her chair. She knew that if she did not share the tale, the two would continue to disturb her and that, to her, was more distressing than having to explain the result of Walcott’s death. “I was not the one to shoot him; an acquaintance from Paris caught him quite by accident as Walcott was removing the pigeons from the tree. They were released and some had gone into the branches to conceal themselves. It was Henri de Rouvroy, my associate, that requested the groom startle them. As they fled, he attempted to shoot one of the pigeons, injuring Walcott instead. It was in the shoulder, not a fatal wound, but he fell from the tree head first and acquired some damage to his skull.

“They attended to his injuries- surprisingly, the bullet did him little harm, but he had caused a cleft to the brain which resulted in acute blood loss. That caused the most damage and although he lived for another three days, it purely prolonged his misery. He could hardly speak and I was sure, after the first day, that he was not quite right; there must have been some devastation to the brain. Out of duty as his mistress and in the pursuit of scientific knowledge, I requested access to his autopsy.” She paused, a scarcely suppressed smirk appearing on her lips. Yvonne could not disguise the elation she felt at having attended the procedure, leaning forward to speak in a lowered tone. “It was a lobotomy! I was able to see the damage to the posterior cerebrum, somewhere along the calcarine sulcus.” 

Unversed on the function of the cerebellum, Penny was no less delighted for hearing the summary and she expressed aloud that she wished she had attended. Her want was met with aversion from Yvonne, who, despite having attended the procedure herself, was vexed to hear Penny’s fascination.

“A man is dead, Penny.”

The girl said nothing on how Yvonne had taken pleasure from the procedure, no thought spared for the groom in recounting the tale, so she distracted herself by taking another roll of bread to eat. Lady Davers had listened intently, neglecting to care for the loss of a servant when she had discovered the truth behind it. 

“His mind is no good to us now; it hardly ever was,” she declared. 

Sipping noisily on her broth, Penny seized the opportunity to mention the carriage mishap and the following events.

“He had to have his leg amputated!” she announced. She devoured a large spoonful of broth between each sentence, barely digesting them in time before continuing. “I received word from Doctor Kensley the morning after. It was a horrid incident, to be sure.”

Whilst she talked, Yvonne watched her, incisive. She was concerned for her sister’s budding attraction to the macabre, sure that she must refer to it at a later date; dinner hardly seemed the time.

“I suppose you would have relished such commotion,” Lady Davers uttered in Yvonne’s direction. She happened to believe that both of her daughters were peculiar and as a result, all peculiarities interested them. 

Penny continued. “That was when I allowed our new neighbour to borrow the chaise. She was in a nervous state when she arrived here, though I cannot blame her; she attended to the boy as well as she could. You must see her, Yvonne! She has leased Colworth House...”

The conversation appeared to spur Lady Davers’ memory, turning to Yvonne and stating that- “Did you hear about Sutton?”

“You know the manor by Woodhall Lane... Yvonne?” Penny stumbled to an end, realising the futility of her endeavour.

Apathetic to her sister’s fanciful report, Yvonne responded to her mother, noting that the inquiry was of greater significance. She leant across the arm of her chair, glowering as she demanded- “What of Sutton?”

Penny scrutinised them both, incensed that she had not concluded the conversation, not to her satisfaction. She was certain that Miss Donoghue would be of interest to her sister, notably in the wake of her return from Paris. Obtaining a friendship with their new neighbour would be valuable, she believed, in aiding her sister’s recovery sooner. 

Oblivious to the disruption that she had caused, Lady Davers noted the developments in their leases. “Sutton has fallen ill with dropsy, and his condition has worsened to the degree where he is unable to collect the six-monthly rent next Tuesday. His apprentice, that young one with the nervous disposition, came to see me. He kept inquiring as to what I should do as if I would be collecting them myself. I told him that he must allocate someone. Unsurprisingly, the dolt has not done so and we have nobody assigned to collect the rent. It would have been unwise to assign the apprentice for he cannot be trusted, in simpleness only.”

In her agitation, Yvonne’s leg jittered, her knee close to striking the table.

“So, who shall be collecting them?” she pressed. Upon receiving no response, she repeated herself, voice rising so that her mother could hear.

“How should I know?” came the shrill retort. 

Riled, Yvonne leant back into her chair, her leg continuing to jolt sharply. The edge of her lips twitched, contemplating, in her agitation, what was to be said, before discerning that there was no reason to speak at all. Lady Davers was unmoved on the subject and Penny had nothing to discuss if it was not regarding the incident with the carriage. She resolved to travel to town the following morning, deliberate matters with Sutton, and if so be it, Yvonne would collect the rents herself.

Ø

Situated by the fireplace within the library, Lady Davers had instructed the nurse to take her there once dinner had ended. Her eldest daughter had excused herself and was seen leaving the estate shortly after, the rebuke hardly perceived by the baroness, though it was greatly beholden by her youngest. Penny was compelled to accompany her mother, having noted that no other company remained, and she fulfilled the duty of reading the newspaper aloud. She spoke in a continual shout, which strained her voice as she delved further into the paper, but Lady Davers would not be satisfied until she had regarded each article.

“Three men have been convicted in relation to the civil disturbance that transpired last Thursday- the twenty-seventh in April. The disorder was caused by working men who had taken to destroying the threshing machines of each individual farm in the region, and, altogether, targeted six respective factories in Elham Valley. Thereupon, the culprits used physical and verbal intimidation against the farm owners.”

Penny ceased in her reading, observing that her mother held little regard for the article, a sentiment that was not shared between them. Resting the newspaper on her lap, she voiced her trepidation. 

“Kent is by Hastings.”

“I know where Kent is.”

“Are you not troubled by the news?” Penny questioned. “Yvonne was there some days ago, and if the disturbance continues, we may find that its restlessness finds us here. They are asking for reformation and we cannot neglect the fact that we are in ownership of farms, which, as stated here, are the sole focus of these protests.” 

Lady Davers scoffed. “What are they to do here? If I sense so much as one protest, I shall see them personally horse-whipped.”

Upon hearing her mother’s remarks, Penny repressed a groan, reading the article once more in silence before responding. 

“I believe it is worth noting,” she decided, pleased to have voiced her assessment of the situation. “I think I shall tell Yvonne when she returns; she will be interested to hear what is happening.”  
Riveted by the flickering flames of the fireplace, Lady Davers merely uttered- “If she does return, that is.”

Penny was certain that she would. If Yvonne were to leave them, Penny would gather her belongings and follow her, adamant that, this time, she would not be left behind. She had no other choice on the matter.

Ø

_ 30th April, 18- _

_I returned home and instructed that Doctor Johnson be returned to my custody. He shall be here shortly- he is situated within Penny’s room and I am sure he will be relieved to return to his usual abode. Having spent two hours roaming the outer fields, I came to my room, having asked for Doctor Johnson midway, and forthwith, started writing. I had utilised those hours to reflect on my current position- the abrupt departure from Paris, the weeks I spent with Miss Robinson at Hastings, and consequently, the less than desirable arrival at my family home. Penny resents me for leaving her here, yet I find that I am resentful of ever having left in the first place. A great deal of pain would have been spared in me having never known of any of these women nor the world that resides outside of Bedford. I would have been miserable to have lived my life in this town; however, I have come to be miserable, all the same. I believe God may have played a cruel trick on me. My destiny does not lie yonder, in the remarkable nor the miraculous; no, it lies here- in a world that I am certain holds no love for me and in return, I have no love for it. _

_As for love, I thought awhile on Josephine, which grieved me, and the recollection of our time together merely caused further torment. Whilst I had loved her, as best as I can, I am reminded of Augusta. There is nobody in this world that I have ever regarded so highly, for, as these pages know, I have loved her dearly and I have loved her always. She haunts me; I see her in my mind as if she were there- being in Paris was no different. I saw Josephine and I heard her announcement- that she was to marry- which, whilst it pained me, reminded me of Augusta. The two recur at once when I think of them- neither, at this moment in time, are entirely distinguishable from the other. I loved them both, Augusta the most, but they left me for another. For a man. Both times I have found myself here- at Haynes Park- and in my devotion to them, I too feel a resentment. _

_On my outing, I ventured through the moorland, headed for the woods at the furthest hill, and as I walked, unceasing in my disquietude, I recounted Augusta’s letter- the one which arrived for me as I returned to Hastings. She must have sensed my affliction, despite the distance between us, and she wrote to express her remorse on I having returned to England at all. The letter had come from her home in Scotland; undoubtedly, she had remained there, and she refrained from mentioning her husband. In view of the distance between us- in radius and in sentiment- Augusta continues to be one of my closest and fondest friends. I know her letter entirely and it was that which I recited as I climbed the hill. As to where I was headed, I could not say other than I knew I must flee as far as I could from my home- to put the same distance between us- whilst allowing any restlessness I had to withdraw, leaving me weary in body and mind. _

_Stood atop the hill, I could see Haynes Park- its ostentatious design, undoubtedly the pride of the town, and I felt that if I were to never see it again, it would be of no consequence to me. There is no comparison to Paris or Brussels, the Garda or the Alps. I shall not remain here, no longer than necessary. In leaving, I know I must atone with Penny, not that she cares for it. Loathe me, if she must, but I cannot subject her to my life and the consequence of my predisposition. She may think it desirable at first- to be considered free; eventually, she will realise that this is no life to live. My sister is an eccentric- that does not equal a recluse, and I will not make one of her. I had once taken satisfaction in being an oddity, a disillusionment that is often borne with youth, and now it has been revealed that I have been conceited- to think that I was beyond reach- an Icarus- and finding, in my fallacy, that I had reduced all I had to ash, myself included. _

_I had foolishly believed in the endurance of love, where, with hesitation, I know my mother to be correct. When Augusta was married, I was devastated, worsted by my greatest adversary- the wealth of a man. Nevertheless, I learnt nothing from this experience, I see, for I deluded myself once more into believing that someone may need me as I need them. And my punishment lies here, in Haynes Park. God has bound me to this place, where I feel I must serve an eternity here, constrained to the mundane and, worse, my tiresome family. Unjust, in Penny’s case, though I would not retract that sentiment for my mother. _

_..._

_Doctor Samuel Johnson has been returned to me. He was contentious and screeched awhile; I thought he did not recognise me. I have come to realise he does and he is resentful- no more than anybody else appears to be. Regardless, he has been cared for well by Penny; she will surely miss him and will come to speak to him often. It is wise, in the meantime, that he remains in my room. Mother despises him- for the noise he makes and the fact that she dislikes most birds. I know I left him but I missed him the most- aside from Penny. He has been a comfort to me, as I have noted on many an occasion. It was inconceivable that he should travel with me- he would have suffered, if not succumbed to illness whilst aboard ship. If he is to forgive me by tonight, I shall hope he sings a little. It would amuse me and I am convinced to have some amusement. Heavens knows I am entitled to it. _


	5. An Undiscovered Fortune

With the dawn came the bustle of skirts, footfalls that had promised to remain quiet, though their approach was amplified the closer they came to the dining room. The door was thrust open, a readied exclamation released in the prospect of catching its occupant unawares, discovering, as they did, that the room was vacant. Penny’s good humour dissolved and she pointedly inquired into the whereabouts of her sister. The footman was apologetic in telling her that Miss Davers had already departed for the day- she had travelled to town on foot, despite the distance, and was not to return till she had spoken to Mr Sutton and been handed the papers that he owed her. 

Seating herself, she occupied Yvonne’s chair, an act of contempt. Despite her behaviour, she discerned that she was upset, having believed that her sister’s return was a promise of good company; an expectation that had yet to manifest itself. Penny turned her attention to eating- her appetite had not dwindled with her happiness, and she chose a selection of eggs, haddock, and fruit, before her gaze was drawn to the empty seat beside her.

“And mother?” she inquired, tartly.

“She is to have breakfast in her room, ma’am.”

Penny repressed the urge to cry out; in any case, she would remain unheard. Brooding, she sat with her despondency, pondering how Yvonne would conduct her business whilst in town and what she may think of the riots in Kent. Penny had much to say on both accounts but they were no different to her other thoughts- they would remain unexpressed.

Ø

With a sharp rap- three times for good measure- the spherical handle of her cane tapped against the door. Yvonne awaited the response, finding that none came. Despite the condition of her employee, she barely had the time nor patience to wait. She lingered a second longer until she was assured that there would be no response, retreating to the street. Crossing to the house’s front window, she found there to be no detectable figures, except for an armchair situated beside the glass. Yvonne presumed the chair belonged to Sutton, venturing further to the side in order to see clearly. Cane raised, she used the handle to lift the brim of her top hat, believing that it would aid her inspection. She noted that the room was occupied, a slight figure visible in the corner. They stood and she deduced that they had observed her at the window.

Yvonne returned to the front door, a consideration made in ascending the stairs two at a time. Her limbs would have accounted for it, though she reminded herself that it was unmannerly to do so. The door opened as she came to the entrance, a child staring at her from barely mid-height. Timid in her uncertainty, the girl seemed to question whether she had been right in answering the door, cowering behind it. 

“Miss Sutton, is your mother...?”

From within, a voice simultaneously called out. “Daisy?”

It drew nearer and in doing so, Mrs Sutton came to face her visitor directly, curtseying as she realised who was standing there. 

“Miss Davers.”

“Mrs Sutton, may I come in?”

Retreating into the hallway, the two allowed her to pass through, promptly directing her to the parlour. She thanked them, striding through the rooms as swiftly as she always did. From behind, she could hear Mrs Sutton’s hasty explanation as to why her husband was disengaged from his duty. Yvonne considered the illness to be an appropriate reason, though the woman was surely disgraced at having their employer visit. 

“He continued for as long as he could, Miss Davers; I assure you. These past weeks, we have refused most visitors on account of his illness. He has been unable to converse; most days, he is confined to bedrest. We are pleased, however, that you have come to speak with him; he has preserved the records as well as he can whilst you have been abroad.”

“I do not doubt that,” she replied, handing them her gloves, hat, and cane. “He was an efficient worker and I am saddened to hear of his condition. If there was any way I could support you, I would see to it. Mister Sutton has been an impeccable delegate, but I do not wish to protract his duties any further. As you have said, he requires bedrest and I shall not deny him.”

Led into the parlour, Yvonne did not attempt to remove her coat, aware that she would not converse for long nor would she wish to. Mr Sutton’s right leg was propped onto a stool, exposed completely in the stale air. Swollen, reddened and bruised, she could distinguish where the blood vessels had erupted along the leg. Grimacing, Yvonne was anguished to see her appointee’s state, pausing unintentionally as if she were saying a final commemoration. Then she called his name. He stirred but did not wake.

“Mister Sutton?” she queried louder. His lethargic awakening encouraged her, accepting the chair that had been offered by his wife. Sat beside him, she placed an assuring hand atop his. “Mister Sutton, it is I, Yvonne Davers. I am disheartened to hear of your condition but I must speak to you about the rents.”

Bewildered, he took a moment to grasp that she was there. 

“Miss Davers?”

Her brow lowered, knitting together, troubled that he may not fathom her reason for being there. “Yes, Mister Sutton. I have come to acquire your records on the tenants. The collection of rent is the following Tuesday and I must have them; I need all current records and arrears. Your apprentice visited my mother two weeks ago, I believe, and asked for her to document the last collection. She was disinclined to do so, as is her way, and instructed the nurse to write them. Naturally, they proved worthless- they were wrong. My mother made no attempt in reviewing them, a refusal on her part to involve herself as a proprietor, so I shall require yours.” 

Mr Sutton blinked slowly before lifting his gaze to his wife, a considerable effort made in doing so. 

“Mrs Sutton, if you please.”

She exited the room, a gesture that relieved Yvonne. Sitting upright, she attempted to reclaim her intrepid demeanour, a softness revealed on her part in talking with the old man. There was an assurance in knowing that her land had been well-kept in her absence, and she found great satisfaction in waiting to receive the documents. Once they were in her possession, there was no reason for her to rely on anybody other than herself. 

Hoarsely, Mr Sutton returned her attention to him. “Who will collect?” 

“I will,” she asserted brazenly. 

“You, Miss Davers?” His brows rose, speckled with grey, the motion paralleled to the astonishment in his voice. “You shall collect them?”

A woman occupying such a role was singular; for a noblewoman, aberrant. Yvonne had known of that fact when implementing her methods and she found that, in spite of it, she sustained her indifference. Leaning forward, her shoulders twitched upward. 

“And who else will, hm?” When he did not answer, she included- “If not I?”

Mr Sutton knew she was correct in that assumption, articulating his agreement, a compliance that satisfied her. Behind, his wife re-entered the room, passing the accounts to Yvonne. She took them, opening the registers to inspect the latest audit and finding, to her satisfaction, that detailed notes had been completed for each tenant and their financial situation. 

“This is splendid, Sutton,” she expressed, revelling in her delight. “This will be of help to me, thank you.”

He leant forward slightly, a wince of pain indicating that he was unable to move any further. “Doulton House flooded five weeks ago; this is the third time that this has happened. The farms and your tenants, they are doing well. Some of your men may need an interview in renewing their lease as some, I fear, have failed to pay in full on a number of occasions.”

The disclosure did not perturb her; there was nothing significant in what he said, but he gestured to her once more, waiting for her to move closer. 

“Whilst you have been away, there is a new industry developing,” he disclosed, his voice becoming raspier. “You shall be familiar with it, though its profit has grown to a considerable sum and I think you shall be interested in deliberating the matter.”

She stared at him, intently. “And what might that be?”

“Lace. The most prevalent factories that operate within this region are owned by the Dunce brothers; they currently have a monopoly on the industry here, yet lace is a popular trade in Bedfordshire, second only to farming. You have an unoccupied factory; you have the finance and resources to successfully implement a new trade such as lace. It would be senseless to not consider this opportunity at the very least. You are sitting on an undiscovered fortune, Miss Davers, and I know you are not the kind of woman to allow for such injustice.”

Quiet, Yvonne scrutinised him, a minute taken in her deliberation. She sat upright, one hand curled at her knee, the accounts resting on her lap. The other three occupants thought she may be offended by the suggestion, but then she said-

“No, I am not.”


	6. Impartial To Breakfast

Approaching the estate from the rear, Yvonne proceeded through the courtyard, chancing upon Claudio as he was being dried. It was evident, to her, that there was something amiss in his demeanour; his head was bowed, barely acknowledging the towel that brushed against his ebony coat. This peculiarity had not remained unnoticed by her, having caught her attention the moment she saw him. Recalling her promise to Penny, Yvonne approached the stable boy who was currently tending to the horse. 

“What is the matter with him?”

Percy Denver wiped his hands on the towel, hesitant to admit that he did not know. “I am unsure, ma’am. He has been ill for a week.”

Irked that no doctor had been called, especially with the staff aware of his condition, Yvonne removed her gloves, passing them to the boy. The debacle was an inconvenience to her, more so to Penny, for she favoured him. If Claudio was unable to recuperate, the girl would be inconsolable.

She drew closer, her hand reaching for the bridge of his nose, fingers brushing further down till she reached the muzzle. The irregularity in his condition was revealed in him remaining still; Penny was the only one who could pacify him, and Yvonne, though possessing the ability, was rarely able to do so. 

She tilted her head to meet his eye. “Are you unwell, hm?”

Exhaling heavily through his nostrils, Claudio responded by leaning into her touch. The notion was suspect, her eyes narrowing. Yvonne removed her hand from his muzzle to feel along his jaw, slight additions of pressure made at varying points; an examination that held little promise. 

She addressed Percy. “Glandered, I think.”

The boy was distressed, wringing his hands together. “Blimey, I hope not.”

Yvonne questioned if it were wise to divulge this information to Penny, believing it would be more appropriate to reserve the knowledge of his condition solely with the staff. It would only cause her bother and Penny was known to spend her night in the stable, curled next to the horse. Undoubtedly, she would return to that habit if she knew Claudio was grievously ill.

Unfastening the chain from her vest, she brought her pocket-watch within view, one hand pressed against the faint pulse in the horse’s neck, the other holding the timepiece. She counted the pulsations within the minute; the verdict undesirable. Claudio’s heartbeat was slower than normal, a discovery that caused her to linger for a minute, the tip of her nose close to brushing his coarse coat. Although he was a favourite of Penny’s, that did not make Yvonne less fond of him and she was dismayed in thinking that he was almost incurable. He sensed her apprehension, head bowing so that she may rest her forehead against him, barely below his cheek. Inhaling slowly, Yvonne ran her hand down his nose once more before pulling away, fingers clicking to call Percy’s attention. The boy scrambled over to her.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Apply mustard poultice and refrain from using a bridle unless necessary. He must be given an opportunity to heal.” Removing her top hat, she tucked it under her arm. “Keep him indoors; he must be kept somewhere dry. And Mister Denver? Any further reports must be directed to me. I shall not have Penny alarmed by his state until we are certain of whether he shall recover or not.”

Upon hearing his agreement, Yvonne continued to the estate through the gardens, entering from the doorway within the veranda. A blunder on her part for the rear of the house was overlooked by the dining room and the library- the two rooms which had been kept occupied that morning by Penny. Yvonne was observed entering the manor, disrupted seconds later by her sister, who was introduced by the vehement bustling of her skirts. The girl’s cheeks were equally as flushed as the dress she adorned- a shade which she declared was French rose- but one which Yvonne believed to be frivolous, regardless of its hue. Penny halted at the foot of the stairs, clutching the rounded newel cap at its post. 

“Did you see Mister Sutton? How is he? Did you manage to acquire his records?”

Yvonne answered with a peevish- “Yes and he is unwell, Penny. You are quite aware of that fact already.”

Penny hesitated before deciding that she would follow her, skirts bunched in hand. She was inclined to forget that she had been left alone that morning, though solely at the expense that she was confided in- her intrigue often overwhelmed any other sentiment she held. The detail of Yvonne’s outing was meaningful, to Penny at least, and she wanted to hear all that had transpired. 

“I ate breakfast alone,” she declared, intent on mentioning this fact first. 

Yvonne came to the top of the stairs, ceasing, for a moment, so that she may glower in Penny’s direction. “You know I am impartial to breakfast. Besides, I ate before I left this morning; there is no need for you to worry.”

With that said, she continued down the corridor, her frock coat billowing as it often did, her fast pace allowing for such dramatics. Her top hat was tucked under one arm, the records under the other; seemingly, she was disinclined to any form of distraction that drew her from her duty, even when it came to Penny. Her sister approached her soon after, having dashed down the corridor in an attempt to walk alongside her. 

“How considerate of you,” she wheezed, her stamina spent. “Although, you may forgive me in saying that it is not considerate at all. I was left alone; mother ate in her room. You should have travelled with a chaperone or a companion, and if there was none, you had me. I should have accompanied you.”

“That, to me, is inconceivable,” came the vexed response. “Considerably more than if I had been alone.” 

Entering her study, Yvonne attempted to close the door behind her, hearing it opened seconds later by Penny. The eldest had wished for solitude, the quiet which often accompanied it, though she came to realise that this would not be the case. Tossing her hat onto the nearest cupboard, she sat at her desk, opening the latest account in the hope that Penny would grasp her intention, though it became clear that she cared little for her predicament.

“Do you believe it wise that you are the one to collect the rents?” 

Yvonne considered Penny, who had remained on the other side of the desk. Her hands had splayed onto the mahogany and she was leaning forward, an attempt at assertiveness. Reaching across, Yvonne took the spectacles that rested atop a mound of books, placing them on the bridge of her nose. 

She stared at Penny over their circular rim. “Do I have any choice in the matter? If not me, who? I would prefer that it was completed by someone else; not from incompetence on my part, but because I have other matters to attend to that are of more interest to me.”

Penny attempted to reason with her. “Remarkable that you have a large fortune at your disposal and you are unable to hire someone.”

“I want to do it.” Yvonne pushed the spectacles further up her nose. “Secondly, I fired that apprentice- I would never have hired him but Sutton insisted. He is of no use to me now, and with Sutton ill, it would be an insult to hire someone. I shall collect the rents when I see fit and if I deem it necessary to hire another delegate, I shall. Until then, I will operate all meetings with our tenants.”

That was the end of the discussion, in her mind, and she began to read the records when Penny spoke. 

“Has it occurred to you that people may react a certain way? To you being so heavily involved?” Upon seeing her indignation, she hurried to continue. “I am supportive to your endeavours, Yvonne, but I worry that the admiration I hold for your ventures are unmatched by almost everyone. It would be easier, would it not, to use the wages to hire another appointee?”

“Easier for whom?” Yvonne exhaled heavily, head turning from one side to the other as if she were searching for inspiration in her response. “I care not for what they have to say about me; the only concern I have is for the upkeep of this estate and its land, which, by default, includes the farms and its workers.” She fell silent for a moment before making a further comment, her voice lowering in its animosity. “A man would not be questioned for doing so- our father was not. I must do what is fitting for our family and our home; I am not here to please the town in their ignorance.”

Penny contemplated her answer, her teeth pressing onto her bottom lip. She was anguished to broach the subject; nevertheless, she felt the time had come for her to acknowledge her sister’s confliction- within herself and among others. Believing herself to have matured in Yvonne’s absence, she thought she was capable of understanding her, wishing the sentiment was reciprocated.

“Your dealings may have been appropriate in Paris or London, but this is Bedfordshire. You know better than I how they regard anyone that is abnormal by definition. The townsfolk are trivial; their assumptions even more so. Proof lies in their talking of your arrival- how you rode your own carriage, in contempt of the fact the driver had been severely injured and you ensured he was cared for. His letter is here...” Penny leant across the desk to present the opened missive. “He expresses his gratitude in the payment of his medical expenses and has assured us that he wishes to work as needed until he repays the bill.

“I wish it were that simple for me- that I had the ability to leave as freely as you do. The townsfolk are not always pleasant.” Penny became impassioned, her hands rising from the desk, merely for them to strike down onto the wood. “You may not believe there is a need to explain yourself, but I have to ask why you cannot extend that courtesy to me! Why did you have to ride from Luton? Why not stay there? One more day, at least!”

Yvonne’s expression was concealed, her head lowering into her hands. She murmured a sound of dissatisfaction before sitting upright, fingers kneading circles into her temple. 

“There was an outbreak of scarlet fever,” she disputed. “I was hardly inclined to stay and there was not much there to interest me, nothing that weighed the risk of becoming ill. I did what had to be done, which I would extend to your concern of me collecting the rents.”

“People believe that to be the sole employment of a man.”

Compiling the letters that were placed on her desk, Yvonne assumed that they had arrived courtesy of Penny, who, whilst grieved, had been considerate in bringing them to her study.

“They think that of an estate holder,” she remarked, “and yet, I own one. I consider this to be of equal responsibility, one that is mine.” 

She opened the first letter, neglecting to examine the address, and unfolded it with a flick of her wrist. Penny, however, had noted its penmanship and knew it to be the writing of Mrs Redfield. Though she had never met the woman, Penny knew her to be a life-long friend of her sister’s- one that had been considered a companion of hers. Yvonne had never confirmed as such, but from Penny’s own conclusion, she knew that she was, perhaps, the most highly regarded of all the companions she had undertaken. 

Silent, impassive, Yvonne displayed no feeling on what was written. Penny was anxious to know of its contents and if not, there was a pressing issue that felt as significant as the first. 

“Does she know about Paris?” she inquired, voice lowering to a whisper, fearful that she would receive some form of retaliation. Worse, she would be given no answer at all. 

Yvonne did not read the entirety of the letter, her gaze darting from one place to another. 

_To hear of your companionship with Miss Langdon was a relief in knowing that you may have found your equal; in hearing that this was not the case, I am saddened for you..._

_Your response was not what I had anticipated; you had confounded me into silence. I am disturbed at my own haste in replying- what I wished to have said will not be written here nor do I believe it should be. I am a married woman, Yvonne, and I know you believe me to be cruel, but I feel your affection is equally as cruel. We cannot keep pretending, my love, that there is any remnant of the devotion we once shared, not in any way that is considered beneficial to the both of us..._

_I have missed you, ardently, and my desire to write to you was inappropriate and ill-advised on my part. Your letter shall remain with the others, where I may continue to treasure them, but this may ignite a flame that we are ill-equipped to handle. My apologies in having disturbed you- I wish we were able to speak in person; life has not been kind to us in that way. It never has..._

_My heart always._

“Did you have a disagreement with Miss Langdon?”

Penny’s voice disrupted Yvonne, who glanced up, slowly- the sentiment in her gaze revealing that she had forgotten she was in her study, more so that she had company. She glanced at the letter once more before folding it, her lips twitching at the edges as they often did when she was on the verge of tears. Standing, she excused herself, brushing past Penny and exiting the room. 

“Yvonne...”

It need not matter if she was heard, Yvonne would not return to her study. Penny wished she had mentioned the letters after the conversation, though she knew her sister would have discovered them sometime. Reproachful, she wished she could aid her in any way, though she was certain that her assistance would be rebuffed. If she were to follow her, that would only pain Yvonne more; she would want to read the letter alone. Penny was aware of that fact, but her own needs also deserved consideration, and she desired to occupy every possible hour with her sister. She had not yet deserted the hope that it may happen, anticipating the day that she was proven correct.

Ø

The following letter was from a Mrs Alston, another longstanding friend of Yvonne’s, who was writing to inform her that she would be passing through the county and held hopes of visiting, which, in extension, implied that she would lodge at Haynes Park for the night. She was travelling from London to Sheffield- some reason provided that meant little to Yvonne, hardly believing it to be of importance.

Appeased for the moment, she headed to the servants’ quarters, calling Mrs Prescott from her late luncheon. They stood in the passage, not wishing to be overheard, yet knowing that the others were seated mere feet away in the dining hall. Yvonne predicted that the conversation would be brief, allowing a hasty return to her room and to allow Mrs Prescott her full allotted break. 

“I have received word from Mrs Alston that she intends on arriving next Wednesday. She shall be travelling with man and maid; they will need housing. As for Mrs Alston, the usual sleeping arrangements will suffice.” 

Mrs Prescott bowed her head, indifferent. “Yes, ma’am.”

Yvonne was walking to the staircase when a thought struck her. She halted at the bottom step. 

“Teresa?” Her brow was furrowed in contemplation. “Paulette, how is she? Is she settling in?”

“Very well, ma’am,” Mrs Prescott assured her; the expression on her face revealed nothing. She did not seem concerned by the maid, an indication that there was no reason to worry. 

“And she has recovered from her travel sickness?”

Mrs Prescott stared blankly at her, her brows rising. Exhaling heavily, the breath was released with a- “Yes, ma’am. Not entirely, but sufficiently enough.”

“Good, I suppose that is a relief.”

Yvonne continued upstairs, leaving Mrs Prescott in stunned silence. Her lips moved as if she had thought of something to say, despite her employer having left, but she decided better of it. Returning to the dining table, she glanced across at Paulette, who was gingerly chewing on a piece of bread. Her gaze softened and when the maid peered across at her, she offered a reassuring smile. God knew the girl needed a little consolation.


	7. The Truth Will Out

Pulling the cravat from her neck, she discarded it atop her vanity and started to undo the buttons on her shirt. She paused midway, the cloth hanging loosely forward, freer still by the suspenders she had plucked from her shoulders. Yvonne sat on the floorboards of her room, the thin rug beneath her barely allowing for comfort, and she removed her boots, leaving them to rest at the end of her bed. Satisfied, she unlocked the trunk before her, having requested that this sole case be left untouched; Yvonne wished to remove the items herself. 

She unfolded and organised the clothes, the gifts and trinkets that she had acquired abroad, and the French books that she had obtained or purchased there. Pleased, some gratification came from knowing that she had used her time in Paris to her full advantage, not solely in personal pleasure, but in the pursuit of knowledge- of science, culture, politics. Yvonne had not been mistaken in travelling to France, even if she had not achieved her primary goal. 

Glancing around her room, studying the furniture, the wallpaper, the clothes, she felt her shoulders slump downward, a riled huff of air escaping her lips. Haynes Park could not be compared to the wonders she had seen abroad; it was improbable. Despite its grandeur, its aristocratic heritage, it seemed a pitiful sight to what lay beyond the simplicity of the town and its surrounding countryside. There was a world for the taking and in her attempt at doing so, she had been condemned to her family home by the one person who she had hoped would free her. 

Nestled amidst her belongings was the journal that she had taken to France, completed shortly before her return. She moved it to her lap, opening the leather-bounded pages to glance over its contents, as if she did not know what it contained- the words that she had written in the frenzy of her infatuation, her happiness, and sequentially, her despair. Countless anecdotes that described, in fine detail, the time that she had spent in Paris’ polite society; the days that she had exhausted with Miss Langdon- the parties, the picnics, their journey along the Seine; the affection that had developed over time, from fondness to adoration; and the nights that they had spent together, where they would assert their desire in a way that could never be spoken, not outside the confines of her journal. 

Across each page, the time that they had shared was a harrowing reminder of what had passed and what was to come. The words ‘Josephine’ and ‘Langdon’ appeared more than Yvonne cared for, yearning to tear the pages completely from the journal and be rid of them. She continued through her memoirs- the thoughts that she had admitted through her own volition- and found the account which she felt to be the most unbearable.

Ø

_21st March, 18-_

_The truth will out- my sentiment in the last entry. I should not have been so foolish, blind even, to think that knowing the truth would be less painful; yet, I demanded it anyhow. You see, she will be travelling to Italy, but not with me. A conscious gibe at my expense? I could not say. All I know is that I asked for her to be my wife, a ceremony which we could enact whilst in Italy, and in saying no to me, she is now to spend her honeymoon there. A honeymoon that was, by all accounts, to be ours and will be- for her alone. I am left with no wife, no ceremony, and no potential of being in Italy, though she will be there- in wedded bliss. In the past, Josephine has expressed her disinterest in travelling to the country. It forces me to confront the question of whether there had been any authenticity in her statement, in her affection, or whether she holds our closeness in such little regard that she barely even realised the insult. _

_This was all discovered in me remaining at the apartment- Josephine believed that I had left for The Louvre. She said she would stay inside, writing letters to family, though she encouraged me to leave. I sensed her apprehension, knowing that there was to be a visitor this morning. Afraid of what that may entail, I kept to my room, letting her assume that I had left before she awoke._

Yvonne came to an abrupt halt, standing upon the platform situated in the centre of the stairwell- this interlude allowing its course to curve with the wall and continue to the lower floor. Midway, a slim, rectangular window overlooked the Parisian apartments and the commuters that strolled below. She watched them, distracting herself for a moment, as if she knew it may be her last chance to observe such a scene. Despite occupying the topmost apartment, she could hear the faint murmur of life through the glass- the conversations that were being had on the street below, the clatter of cart wheels, and the stomping of horses’ hooves. She drew her gaze to the sapphire sky, the white clouds that drifted amidst its atmosphere, then she turned her attention to the double doors at the bottom of the stairs. 

Rare to see them closed; Yvonne had been the only one to do so during their visit- she had preferred to keep her encounters with Josephine private and uninterrupted. To see the room sealed, particularly when she had not been the culprit, riled her; indisputable that it was Josephine’s doing, the impulse serving to increase Yvonne’s suspicion. 

She neared the door, ear close to brushing against it, listening to the sound of voices that reached her- one being Josephine; the other, a man. Her hand hovered, trembling in its indecision, before falling back to her side. Lowering her gaze to the floor, she closed her eyes, aware that any assertion she had held in discovering them was altogether vanished, and she was left grieved. Her lips drew inward, dragging across her teeth, a motion which may have soothed her. The understanding that there was a man in the apartment, undoubtedly a suitor, removed her of any courage that she had gained in waiting for his arrival.

_A sound of happiness, coquetry; it was one I knew well, hers especially, and their conversation was precisely as it sounded- frivolous. It was a notion that could never be extended to me for I cannot offer anything more than some clandestine affair, a lovely distraction whilst they amuse themselves from their loneliness. I am prepared, every time, to offer myself wholly and all that I have, but it seems that this is nothing compared to money, to societal comfort. Love has no place in marriage, I have harshly discovered, for I would have been married ten times over to all the women whom I have loved and who have loved me. And for this indignity alone, I felt all endurance return to me. I will not be made the fool. Not by any man, not by societal expectation, and most certainly not by Miss Josephine Langdon._

Entering the room, the sweethearts were observed by the rear window, sharing the curved loveseat that had been placed there. Yvonne took a moment to think of how the idea had been hers, an endeavour in having them sit together, overlooking a capital that was infamous for romance. Josephine faced the door, standing in trepidation of what was to come, whilst her suitor peered over his shoulder, following her movement in the hope of an introduction. Uttering Yvonne’s name in astonishment, Josephine’s gaze flickered between the two admirers, stuttering in her attempt to belatedly acquaint them. 

“This is Miss Yvonne Davers of Haynes Park, Bedford. Yvonne, this is Captain Edmund Fawcett.” 

Despite her discomfort at the two having encountered each other, Josephine was pleased, revealing that her conversation with Captain Fawcett had been of great satisfaction to her. Yvonne knew what had transpired between the two, wishing to hear the admittance aloud, though she could not bring herself to ask. It was apparent that she had been defeated, an understanding that was heeded solely by the two women. As for the suitor, he attempted to converse with Yvonne, ignorant to her preoccupation. 

His hand extended to take hers, waiting earnestly in the air between them. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Davers. Josephine hardly speaks of anyone else.”

_I thought to ask him if she had spoken of the affection between us- the kisses; the fleeting touches in public; the intimacy we employed daily within the confines of her room, where I tended to her sensibility until she came to a sense of satisfaction. Had she spoken of that? I suppose not. Did he possess the ability to equal me? I did not believe that either._

He released her hand, which, in its negligence, dropped to her side. The Captain was perplexed, glancing towards Josephine in the hope that she had noticed Miss Davers’ reluctance to address him, discovering, as he did, that she reflected his apprehension, though she was slowly mounting into a state of distress. Yvonne did not care to analyse the way they looked at each other, deciding to scrutinise his inadequacies- the grey that appeared at his temple. She was certain that Captain Fawcett was an elder gentleman, who, when nearing retirement, had decided to find himself a woman who would be his companion during the later years of his life. Having accumulated his wealth, he depended on this offer to entice the interest of a younger bride. Yvonne found the notion distasteful; it may have impressed Josephine, but not her. 

Sensing her indignation, he excused himself. “I shall see you both at dinner.”

He parted, a hopeful smile directed at Josephine, to which she returned. Nothing was said in regards to Yvonne; it appeared that she had caused him to feel uneasy. She watched him leave, assurance deriving from his departure. Behind, Josephine attempted to clarify his earlier comment, her voice discovered now that the Captain had left. 

“I have invited him to dine with us.”

Yvonne wished she had said anything but; what was surely to come was its own confirmation. 

_I was determined to do all I must in winning her hand, in spite of the belief that it was surely over, no matter what I did. Standing before her, I waited for the moment that she admitted the truth; perhaps I had expected too much, but I could never have afflicted her in the way she did me. If she had indicated any love for me, I would have fallen to my knees then and asked her to be my wife. But she never did. Rather, she stared at me as if I had been the offender this whole time. She was humiliated in being caught and in that humiliation, she was enraged. I could not understand it- Josephine was the one who had betrayed me. What crime had I committed other than loving her and believing that she may love me in return? _

“I thought you had left for the museum,” Josephine remarked. She made a poor attempt at disguising her accusation, her shame accounting for her rising temper. 

“No, I thought better of it,” Yvonne contended. “I felt it was the right thing to do.”

Her cutting remark caused Josephine to lower herself onto the loveseat, breathing heavily; head drooping forward, the convulsion of her chest revealed that she was repressing the urge to weep. Her anguish revealed more than words could and each shuddering breath was a penetrating blow to Yvonne’s heart. Reluctant, Yvonne stood before her, imperious in the way she towered above the other woman. The impression was inadvertent and it was one that she was hardly aware of; she had become distracted by her whimpering lover, unnerved by her own incapability of pressing the issue. Yvonne acknowledged her own desperation for the truth, but in her insistence, she would simply receive an answer that she was unprepared for. 

In her trepidation, she was reminded of Augusta, inclined to believe that she had returned to that moment when her love informed her that she was to be wed. They were not dissimilar, and she had seen the same remorse upon Josephine’s features as she had in Augusta’s, hence her resolution to stay within the apartment that morning. Yvonne was resentful that having discovered the truth, she must now suffer for it. She wished to be proven false, to be assured that this was nothing other than a trivial fancy on the Captain’s part, but if that were so, Josephine would not have been distraught, not as she currently was. Blinking, she prevented a tear from escaping, appealing to her own good nature that she would not be made a spectacle of- no more than she already had. 

A mumble escaped Josephine’s lips, her head remaining low in her reluctance to meet Yvonne’s eye. “Edmund has asked me to marry him... I have agreed.”

Gasping for breath that never came, Yvonne fell to her knees, hands clasped to her stomach as if she had been severely wounded. Any breath that remained left through parted lips, surging through her body in such ferocity that it caused the entirety of her to shudder. She crawled the remainder of the distance between them, hands clinging to Josephine’s feet and then her knees, pleading for her to reconsider. Scarcely able to raise her head, her face buried into Josephine’s skirt, inhaling the faint scent of her perfume. 

“Please...” 

Josephine grimaced, knowing she could not grant her with the desired answer. One hand took hold of Yvonne’s, their fingers entwining; the other brushed through her golden hair, its tendrils barely passing the nape of her neck. 

“I have made my decision and I will keep to it,” she told her, voice trembling. 

Yvonne quivered in response, her tears soaking into the skirt as she attempted to subdue her strangled cries. She could feel Josephine clinging to her, a reciprocity that she had not expected, particularly in the wake of her announcement, and she sensed a touch on the back of her head. Realising Josephine had leant forward, her nose pressing against her hair, Yvonne began to wail, the noise subdued by the silk folds in which she had buried herself. 

“Why?” she demanded. 

Josephine did not respond for several minutes, grasping her tightly as if she believed that would comfort them both. It did not and she soon responded- “I am sorry. I truly am.”

That was of no satisfaction to either of them and they sat in silence, the only intermission being their recurrent weeping. Yvonne believed that their inability to say anything more was simply proof that there was nothing left to say; they were removed from one another and would continue to be, despite the fact that they were sitting together. There was nothing to be done. 

_So, you see, she is to marry him. _

_..._

_I am to return to England alone. Most distressingly, wifeless. For her, she will go to Italy where we were to be wed and she will be. Just not with me._

Ø

The pages crumpled under her grip, wrinkling at the edges where she was tempted to tear them from the journal- expelling the proof when she was incapable of doing so to the memory. Tugging at the account, Yvonne urged herself to remove it, once and for all. She found, however, that she could not and in her frustration, she closed the book with considerable force, taking some comfort from the weighty thud that followed.

Discarding the leather-bound journal on the floor, indifferent to when she would place it with the others, her hands flew to her hair, curling tightly in the short, flaxen waves that had once given her pleasure. Upon reflection, she was left dissatisfied. Yvonne had found amusement in those who thought her to be male and had, at times, obliged such beliefs, but as she scraped her fingers through her hair, she thought- how like a man’s, an assessment which was solely injurious. She was a woman, despite the way she presented herself to others, and she did not wish for anything different. It would have accounted for her queer nature, though she believed it would not have aided her in much else. 

Nevertheless, Yvonne wished for a partnership, one which would be legally and spiritually binding, and one which she would extend to the end of her days. If she were a man then she believed neither Augusta nor Josephine would have dismissed her proposal, yet here she was- condemned to a life without either. 

Her bottom lip trembled, her knees brought to her chest as she lowered her head between them. It did not lessen the tears that began to fall, though it dampened the sound of her irrepressible sobbing. A sharp wail caused Doctor Samuel Johnson to awaken in his cage, chirping across to her in the knowledge that she was hurt. She did not answer for a while and he watched her as she sat upon the floor, curled into a foetal position. Once she had finished, he knew she would attend to him but it took longer than expected for her whimpers to subdue.


	8. Must Be Lonely

Fastening the straps on her trunk, Yvonne closed it with scant satisfaction, her gaze settling dejectedly on the trunk’s contents that had been strewn across the room. Her fringe had fallen in a sweeping motion across her forehead and she brushed it back, disturbed to hear a knock at the door. She wished the visitor would leave, despite knowing that she must entertain the caller, their untimely disruption merely serving to make her more wretched in thought and feeling. Yvonne could not fathom which was worse- the unkempt chamber or its deplorable occupant. Both appeared to be rather dismal. 

Her voice rose in irritation. “Yes?”

The door opened hesitantly, a motion that caused her to think it was a servant, but it was Penny, the chestnut hue of her eyes reflecting the unmistakable concern she held for her sister. She cowered in the doorway, the powdered pink of her dress the main determinant of her figure in the shadows. When she judged that all was well, or rather, that her company would be tolerated, she stepped into the room, slowly approaching Yvonne.

“Mother is in the drawing room,” she said, her voice soft and somewhat hopeful. “I read Robinson Crusoe whilst we sat by the fire; she rather likes it. I thought you may want to join us. You used to like Crusoe- remember when you read it to me?” Discouraged to see Yvonne avert her gaze, she continued with resolution. “You always told me how you would experience it for yourself one day, the Caribbean. For a while, I thought I may join you.” She fell silent for a minute. “I suppose that is now out of the question.”

Yvonne simply answered with- “I am unpacking.”

She gestured to the objects that had been placed around the room, each mound categorised into its relevant section so they may be kept well-ordered. The action caused Penny’s gaze to hover over each pile, inspecting the items that had been brought from Europe. She noted the literature that was undoubtedly from Paris and a selection of clothes that had been bought specifically for evening wear, a degree of masculinity to the garments that were bordering on the improper. Mouth down-turning, her hands clasped together as she stared pensively up at her sister. 

“I suppose, in contrast, we seem uninteresting,” she remarked.

Indisputable that she was distressed. Her sentence stumbled to its end and as it did, she felt Yvonne take her by the shoulders, bringing her forward into a firm embrace. Penny was gratified, returning the gesture with all of her might, arms wrapping around her torso. She was a convenient height for Yvonne to rest her chin atop her head, Penny’s copper ringlets dishevelled from her lack of care. 

Yvonne spoke resolvedly, though her words were faint. “I refuse, for one second, to let you believe that the issue is you. It is never you, my dear.”

There was a tremor in her voice, revealing the anguish that she had desperately hoped to suppress, and Penny knew she had wept. She could discern the dejection within her, simply from the way Yvonne clung to her, the eldest seeking solace that she could never ask for.

Removing herself from the embrace, Yvonne took hold of Penny’s wrist, leading her to the chest positioned at the end of her bed. They sat alongside each other- Penny waiting for clarification on the events that had led to the other’s return, Yvonne believing there was nothing to be said; she merely wanted to sit awhile with her sister. This did not satisfy Penny, who wished for a solution, as best as she was capable of offering, though she believed any attempt would be rebuffed, regardless of her best efforts. 

“What happened, Yvonne?” she urged, leaning forward so that she may view her expression clearly. “In Paris with Miss Langdon... She did not return but you did.”

Her hand came to rest atop Yvonne’s wrist, her fingers pressing lightly down, hoping to urge her in action as well as words. She felt the eldest turn her hand upward at the touch, an incentive for her to take hold of it, which she did, satisfied that her consolation had not been rebuffed. As she clutched onto her sister, she felt Yvonne’s other hand settle on them both, encasing them within her large grip. She appeared to be tearful yet no tears were shed, despite the redness that had developed around her eyes. 

“Nothing,” she breathed.

Her attention focused on their entwined hands, regarding this to be the most agreeable option, more so than having to acknowledge the worry that Penny’s features had adopted. Yvonne had not wanted to involve the girl; her current predicament would merely trouble her, and greatly so, which was abhorrent to Yvonne, as she refused to allow the disorder in her life to encroach on Penny, who, by all measures, had a better chance of living in happiness and fulfilment. She thought it unjust that her unfortunate predisposition should affect her sister in any way. In thinking so, she felt her bottom lip tremble, a restless notion that she struggled to prevent.

Her head rested against Penny’s shoulder, a shuddering exhale emitted as she did. It was this impulse that caused Penny to realise that she must dismiss the notion of talking about Paris, much to her own disappointment. However, she was content, for the time being, to alter the discussion to Yvonne’s fancy. She did not regard the subject of Miss Langdon to be complete, not by any means, and she was resolved to discover all that had happened- not through the contempt of her sister’s feelings but in the endeavour to comprehend them. Penny wished to lessen Yvonne’s misery in any way she could.

“I never finished that story, did I?” Penny mused. Her voice lilted slightly in an attempt to be light-hearted. “As you know, we experienced that terrible accident by the hill. I am sure you heard the account of Elijah- how we kept him here for a day and once his father had come to retrieve him, the poor child had to have his leg amputated. Well, George Bell- the father, and one of our tenants, as I am sure you know- he was understandably distressed at the whole ordeal. I heard the surgery was a success, although Elijah will take time to recover and, naturally, he will be bereft in having to be without a leg. It will surely affect the family as a whole. Simply horrid; don’t you agree, Yvonne? I have barely slept this week in thinking of him. I certainly attempted to support him in every way I could whilst he was here, yet I often question if I should have done better.

“And how self-centred of me in thinking so when a boy is without his leg, and how unfortunate and wretched that Miss Donoghue had to endure it all, believing it to be her fault. She was hardly to blame. Firstly, she was not the person who drove the carriage. Secondly, she was the one who commanded the situation once they had struck him- the coachman was hardly of any use, though I believe he was not at fault for hitting the boy. Besides, the constable was there to take an account of the events and I heard, through Mrs Prescott, that there was no fault on anybody’s side. It was an unfortunate state of events- a freak accident, if you will. 

“You may think it improper of me, but whilst I attended to Miss Donoghue, I could not help but notice how young and charming she was. She was very becoming and I would have liked to converse with her further, but she was with an older woman... Miss Ainsley, I believe. She was her childhood governess. Now, she accompanies her as a sort of chaperone. Little in the way of friends, I think, so she has hired the woman for propriety only. You may have guessed from her name, but she does not originate from England; she has travelled all the way from Ireland. Why she would want to make such a journey to plain old Bedford, I do not know. Her fortune must make her the most eligible young woman in the county- after me, naturally. 

“She appears to be rather demure; she was not much talkative, but in comparison with Miss Ainsley, I suppose anyone would give that impression. Oh, and Miss Ainsley kept talking incessantly of the silliest of things- to mother, of all people. I feel very sorry for Miss Donoghue if that is all she has in ways of companionship. She has no immediate family, so I hear, and her friends are either living in Ireland or across the country; there is certainly nobody here who she knows. I had to question why she would make such a decision, though I believe she has some hidden purpose...” Penny paused to giggle, reminded of the woman’s countenance when a certain Miss Davers had been discussed. “But I could not possibly think of what it may be...

“She must be lonely, deciding to live here with no friends nor family nearby. I would like to strike a friendship and you certainly would take a fancy to her. She needs someone to spend her time with. I feel grieved that all she has for company is Miss Ainsley, who, I am sure, will try to surround her with frivolous friends and distant relatives, but you can tell that Miss Donoghue does not care for that. I believe the three of us are very much alike in that sense. All she needs is someone who shall care for her, not the fortune nor the family tragedy, but her specifically. I question if she has so much as one person who regards her that way. Yes... I think we shall both get along with her quite agreeably. You the most. I could not say why, but I feel you shall both find a friend in each other.”

Having come to the end of her report, satisfied to have discussed it at last, she fell silent. Penny waited for a response, but she realised, after a few moments, that there would be none. She was despondent in thinking so, though she could accept her sister’s lack of want in talking or to have company. 

Subsiding into a laboured reticence, Yvonne clasped her arms around Penny’s, her face burying deeper into her shoulder. Her breath had calmed in the time that she had spoken, but Penny still felt a droplet against her neck, proceeding down her back and onto her dress, and she knew it to be a tear. Watching the feathery hair as it remained unmoved, Penny bit onto her bottom lip, discouraged in thinking that she could do little for her. She was uncertain as to how Yvonne could be comforted; their time together had been meagre in recent years and they had become reluctant in their approach to the other. Penny did not wish to have any doubt when it came to her sister, fearing that they had already bridged a point of no return- that did not mean she loved her any less. It was apparent that she revered Yvonne and, in her own way, Yvonne adored her. 

Penny left a kiss amidst the golden hair, admiring, as she often did, how short it was- the daring her sister held in defying convention. In response, she felt Yvonne clutch her arm a little tighter. Neither wished to be apart from the other, so they remained sitting side-by-side. Penny thought it rather pleasant, despite their reason for being there, and if she had inquired as to Yvonne’s feelings on the matter, she would have discovered she felt the same.

Penny’s voice spoke out in the still air, observing the dusk as it settled through the window, stretching across their figures. “I forgot to tell you, but I was in town earlier today and the place was teeming with soldiers. Some of them were quite young and handsome, if I do say so myself...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're just over halfway through now. Of the first volume of chapters, not the whole thing... If only it was that quick to write. I just wanted to say that I really hope you're all enjoying it so far, as much as I enjoyed writing it. I really appreciate all the views, comments, and kudos, it really means a lot to me as I really do love this story. 
> 
> I promise you that Y and B will meet soon enough! And when they do, nearly every scene from then on has them both in. Promise! I did say it was going to be a slow burner lmao. That includes their meeting too.


	9. A Tendency Towards Melancholy

The walkway which extended down the righthand side of Colworth House made for pleasant viewing, aided mainly by the various flowers that had begun to blossom. Their sudden growth was attributed to the oncoming of spring, and as Bonnie stared out of the window, she came to wish that she was walking amongst the assorted shrubbery rather than remaining inside- an obligatory practice that she had undertaken since arriving at the estate. 

She had removed herself from the solitary confines of her childhood home, merely to place herself in a confinement of her own making. However, Bonnie believed this routine to be reasonable when one had no acquaintances in the area, an inconvenience that could easily be rectified, but a practice which Miss Ainsley ascribed to ill-health. She considered it to be a fragility of the body, one which had occurred during the accident earlier that week; or worse, from the lady’s viewpoint, Bonnie was not of sound mind, although this was an assumption that Miss Ainsley believed to be inevitable.

Regardless, Bonnie did not suspect this to be the case and she was certain that her isolation was borne from a lack of associates within Bedford. She had developed a subsequent aversion to some of the townsfolk that she had met- Doctor Kensley being one. He was currently stood beside her, his spindly fingers grasping her wrist, which hung limply from his hand. Since tending to her, Doctor Kensley had taken to dallying around her person, staring at her in a way that she found to be distasteful. Bonnie had discovered, within the first minute of making his acquaintance, that she despised him; he had a bothersome air and she thought, in his way of talking, that he was rather arrogant.

His thumb brushed repeatedly along her wrist, a vain attempt at measuring her pulse. The notion provoked her skin to itch and she wished she were able to recoil from the whole of him. Irked, she peered up, the first attempt she had made in acknowledging him since he had entered the room. Her fury was countered with an unwitting smile, the response causing Bonnie to consider that he was not so much a scoundrel as he was imbecilic. 

Miss Ainsley was seated opposite, her presence of little reassurance to the young woman. She was ignorant to the silent conflict, smiling witlessly in her endeavour to console the supposed invalid. The quiet scene was interrupted by the doctor, who addressed the custodian as if Bonnie was not seated between them. 

“Does she plan to travel?” 

Bonnie, having not been addressed, said nothing, preferring to stare out of the window. Her companion leant keenly forward, pleased to have been included, even at the expense of her ward. 

“Why, yes!” she affirmed, merrily. “Miss Donoghue has considered journeying to Loch Ness with her friend, Miss Annie Quinton. The plan is that they shall travel in the summer when the weather is agreeable.” 

The outing was of little consequence to Bonnie, who had been intent on refusing the invitation; yet, in the wake of his question, she felt the obligation to attend, a prospect which merely served to agitate her, as she could think of nothing worse. His grip lessened on her wrist and she hastily brought it to her lap, tucking it securely beneath her arm. This act of contempt was not observed by the doctor, his consideration directed solely on the elder, despite the fact that Miss Ainsley was not his patient.

“There appears to be no physical trauma in regards to the accident that befell you both; her body is in remarkable condition.” Facing the custodian, he did not notice Bonnie’s gaze as it arched upwards, an irritation displayed that she could barely conceal. “Though I would not discredit the idea that there is some mental trauma...” The doctor drew pleasure in Miss Ainsley’s horrified gasp, pressing on. “I believe that a short reprieve will do her good- she must have respite in nature, somewhere that reminds her of home. If Miss Donoghue comes from the lakes of Kerry, I propose that Loch Ness is precisely what she needs and, as a man of science, I encourage it.”

Bonnie thought it droll that a man of science could be so obtuse, and she took to smirking, disrupted shortly after by Miss Ainsley who called to her, saying- “You must write to Annie at once! Certainly, you will benefit from visiting the lake with a friend, one with whom you are already familiar.”

The young woman felt her smile lessen, contorting into a grimace. She held no interest in seeing Miss Quinton; if she had, Bonnie would have surely seen her sooner. There was an importance in her remaining at Colworth House, yet she would not say why, and she felt the significance of her patience- the award that she would gain from it. Bonnie distinguished that there was no benefit in her being by the lake nor in London; that would simply evoke a distance between herself and Bedfordshire that she was loathe to create. 

In her disinterest, she continued to observe the garden, the flowers that fluttered in the breeze. She emitted a non-committal hum, one which intended offence. Despite her insult, Miss Ainsley was unsurprised by her behaviour, turning to Doctor Kensley instead. 

“If Miss Donoghue is too frail to do so, I may compose the letter myself. It would prevent any further strain to her mind.”

Bonnie was indifferent in any case, all the more so when she heard the doctor speak. 

“She requires interaction, particularly with those who she considers dear to her. Miss Donoghue needs drawing out of her reserve, else she may suffer for it in the future. I have to ask whether she was introduced to society?”

“No, she was not,” Miss Ainsley informed him, saddened to discuss her previous employers. “Her parents died before it could be arranged, which was upsetting in consideration of the fact that they were preparing for her coming out on her return to Kerry.” 

Doctor Kensley stepped backward, his hand coming to rest atop Bonnie’s shoulder. Her head turned from the window to the other side of her, peering at the medic with palpable distaste. Despite his earlier attention, he did not appear to notice the way she stared at him and she wished, for one second, that he would, so that she may express the entirety of her feelings on the matter. His thumb brushed along her shoulder whilst he continued to lecture Miss Ainsley. Observing them both, Bonnie surmised that she ought to say nothing for she would not be heard nor regarded; they had forgotten that she was there. 

“If she has not yet experienced a coming out then I highly recommend that she does so here in Bedford. It would benefit her greatly.”

Bonnie did not believe that it would, although she appeared to have no say, conveying her frustration in tacit indifference as she continued to watch the flowers. She waited in hope that Miss Ainsley would inquire into her thoughts, her opinion on whether she ought to have a coming out now that she had entered womanhood, but her companion merely resumed her conversation with the doctor. 

“You see, Doctor Kensley, Miss Donoghue is an only child. Her younger brother, God rest his soul, was tragically drowned in the lake and she is the sole heir of the Donoghue fortune. Miss Donoghue would be delighted in having a coming out, but in performing such an act, she might attract unwanted attention, particularly when it comes to financial matters. It is of the utmost importance that both she and her legacy are protected.”

Contemplating the multitude of blossoms, Bonnie felt her throat itch, blinking rapidly to dispel any tears that may arise. She thought it unfair- as to what specifically, she believed it to be the whole sum of events. Doctor Kensley did not deserve intelligence on her life thus far when he had little intelligence to begin with, and she felt, at this moment in time, that Miss Ainsley was hardly better. The statement from her custodian had exposed her life to travesty, reiterating the misery that had slowly provoked her decision in arriving at Colworth House. Resentful, Bonnie supposed that Miss Ainsley ought to tell the whole neighbourhood for she would surely do so anyway, exposing the isolation that the young woman was trapped within despite her best efforts. Her bottom lip trembled, her hands clasping tightly together in her attempt to sedate the restless beating of her heart. 

If it were possible, Bonnie would grasp the earliest convenience in allowing her freedom. She wished to be liberated from the world in which she lived, not in the sense that her family and friends wished upon her, but in her own way and she was resolved, at the very least, to have that. 

Conversing, the doctor released his hold on her shoulder, striding across the room to stand before Miss Ainsley. “In these circumstances, being kind can be cruel, particularly when the lady has a tendency towards melancholy. I suggest that adventure is the perfect cure, whether it be travelling to the lakes or hosting a social gathering, but I am certain that a little animation in her life will serve to remedy Miss Donoghue’s despondency.” 

The doctor peered over his shoulder, attempting to smile at her once more, but she turned her gaze to the window. She noted a swallow capering across the grass and she found the bird to be of more interest than the spectacle that had unfolded in her drawing room.

Neglecting to return his attention, Bonnie watched the swallow, contemplating whether her neighbour had yet arrived. Miss Yvonne Davers was expected that week and she assumed that she may have already reached Haynes Park. At such a thought, she felt her heartbeat quicken once more, though it was not from nerves as much as it was from anticipation. It would be appropriate, she reflected, for her to return to the Davers family, expressing her gratitude for their support in the accident and in greeting her new neighbour. She may present herself as discourteous if she did not, and it was crucial to her that this was not the case. Bonnie questioned what she may say when chancing upon Miss Yvonne Davers- whether they would have anything to say at all. She hoped that the noblewoman was more than she had ever wished for, though she heartily believed that she would be; Bonnie had never held such a high opinion of anyone, not as she did Miss Davers.


	10. A Competitive Business

Twelve years previous, the third floor of Haynes Park had been reconstructed, fashioning half of its expanse into several compartments, all of which circulated around Lady Davers’ private chambers. This was completed with the primary intention that she need not venture further than those rooms required, maintaining the quiet and isolation which she longed for, even at the expense of her daughters’ company. It was in her private parlour, the one adjacent to her bedroom, that she was disturbed by a knock at the door. Irritable to have her daily contemplation disturbed, Lady Davers did not answer the request, yet the door opened anyhow, ignorant to her want. 

Yvonne stepped into the room, uninvited and uncaring of that fact. She was dressed in her coat, which her mother attributed to her upcoming meeting with their tenants; the only piece missing was the customary top hat, seen tucked under her arm. From the resolute look in her eye, Lady Davers knew it was to be a conversation undesirable to her. Before Yvonne could speak, the elder voiced her opinion, intent on being first. 

“I hold no interest in discussing your predicament.”

Yvonne seated herself on the divan opposite, markedly contemptuous when it came to her mother’s remark. The subject of inquiry, to her, was imperative; she considered it to be a pressing matter, glowering at the apparent disapproval that she was met with. 

“Nothing has been said,” she uttered. 

Her mother scoffed, peering across, the grey hue of her eyes reflecting the disdain that she held for being placed in such a quandary. “I doubt you would be here if you did not need my assistance. I am unmoved on the subject, whatever it may be; I do not wish to hear it.”

Yvonne persisted, nevertheless. “I came to inquire on your opinion regarding a new venture that I have undertaken, and I know how it pleases you to pass judgement on all that I do, so I ask, before I am to leave, what you think of the lace industry?”

Lady Davers was silent, staring into the barren fireplace that she had been placed beside. Eventually, she uttered- “What of it?”

Yvonne leant forward, her elbows resting atop her thighs as she did so. “I have decided upon using our factory for the production of lace. It has been nothing more than storage for our machinery and it has become a squandered opportunity. At present, lace is the second largest industry within Bedfordshire and is, without a doubt, profitable. If we have the resources available, would it not be a gross misuse to refuse any chance in partaking within the trade? We have all that is necessary and what we lack, we would be able to compensate for once we have gained some profit from its sales.”

“It seems, to me, that you do not need my opinion. You have already decided.”

Her indifference was not a comfort to Yvonne, apprehensive to hear what she thought of her proposal, injurious or not. Despite her mother’s disinterest, Lady Davers had been her husband’s partner in trade, as well as within the home, and she knew more than she was willing to admit. Yvonne knew her mother to be economical, despite her apathetic demeanour towards the subject. 

“Yet, I ask for it anyhow,” she pursued. “What is your impression of the lace industry?”

“I am under the impression that it is a waste of your time.” Lady Davers paused, her lips parted as if she were compelling herself to continue. “It will be troublesome, so, on all accounts, it would be wise for you to remain uninvolved.” 

“Why?”

There was no answer, her mother’s pointed nails plucking at the pewter grey blanket which lay across her lap. Leaning forward, Yvonne pressed her further, insisting upon an answer. Lady Davers huffed, drawing quivering breathes inward as if their conversation was causing her considerable grief. Nevertheless, she gave to answering when Yvonne did not halt in her questioning. 

“It is a competitive business!” she exclaimed, her words bursting forth in a mixture of indignation and exasperation. “One that is expensive to upkeep. If you were to continue with this trade, I believe it shall merely serve as a burden, nothing more.”

“Then I suppose it is fortunate that it is I who shall operate the business, rather than someone who does not believe in its potential.” 

Yvonne stood, unperturbed, despite the critical appraisal she had received. She left a light kiss on her mother’s curls, their silvery tincture complimentary to the white and black decoration that adorned the parlour. In the past, when her father had been alive, the Park was furbished with an array of colour, a distinct contrast to the monochromatic hue that had been left in the wake of his death. If she were to permit it, Lady Davers would not allow for colour anywhere, though she had little say on the matter, considering the estate had not passed to her but to Yvonne. 

Taking the golden watch from her waistcoat, Yvonne read the time, pocketing it once she had finished. She had twenty-three minutes till her first appointment in town and despite it being a thirty-minute walk, Yvonne was confident she would be there on time. Her new groom, a temporary fixture whilst they searched for someone more qualified, had insisted that the chaise would be waiting for her on the driveway. Aloof, she had said nothing and planned to leave through the back door. 

With a short explanation as to where she was going, Lady Davers unmoved in any case, Yvonne exited the manor through the gardens and onto the hillside which lay beyond the walls of Haynes Park. She did not express, to any of the staff, that she was not in need of the chaise and supposed they were to eventually discover that she had left. Amused, she placed her top hat upon her head and continued onto the moors, her cane swinging back and forth in the air, occasionally punctuating the grass in rhythm with her prolonged strides. 

Tucked underneath her other arm were the records for her tenants; astonished as they would be to see her, they would be more so when discovering that she knew the detail of their accounts. Her conduct would be called to question- a person with lesser nerve would be grieved, but Yvonne expected nothing less, nor did she care for their opinion.

Ø

The public house of her choosing was one which had been owned by the Davers family for the last three decades- The Hare and Hounds Inn. It was the only establishment of its lot which she believed to be respectable, and she deemed it imperative that such business should be held on her grounds rather than somewhere she was unfamiliar.

On approaching the building from the steep path behind, one which led from the hills to the town, she noted several of her tenants stood outside. They were startled to see her, notably without a delegate or chaperone, but despite their bewilderment, the men stepped aside to let her pass, each greeting her with a swift- “Morning, Miss Davers.”

She returned their greeting, satisfied to find no resistance on their part. Yvonne entered the inn through the open door, held ajar for her by a tenant. On entering the seating area, the men that awaited her stood, greeting her in a similar fashion to the men outside. The response was what she expected of her employees, despite their reservations of her sex, and she acknowledged them all by name, as she believed it her duty to treat them with equal deference. 

Perceiving George Bell, she approached him, mindful that she had not yet inquired into the injury that had befell his son. He appeared grateful that she acknowledged him, although she felt the gratitude to be unnecessary- Yvonne considered it her responsibility to oversee the boy’s medical needs, the accident having occurred on her land and the family being her tenants. 

“How is Elijah, Mister Bell?” she inquired, her voice lowering to express her condolences. 

The father bowed his head in gratitude. “He is well, thank you, ma’am. Better than we could have hoped and we are grateful, despite all that has occurred, that he is with us. My wife and I cannot thank you enough for the support that we have received from your family, Miss Penny, especially. May you pass our thanks for the basket she sent us? Elijah was almost in good spirits for the first time since the incident.”

Yvonne was not aware of what basket he was referring to, affirming that she would deliver the message once she had returned home. Perplexed that a gift had been sent without her knowledge, particularly when it was from Penny, she insisted on providing her own assistance. 

“I shall come and see the boy when possible,” she asserted. “I know that you have continued to work for us and I appreciate your dedication. It is time that I repay your aid with my own. As for the driver, the constable has informed me that he continues to speak with Miss Donoghue’s coachman, although he does not believe it to be the fault of anyone. However, if I am to find that this is not the case, I will see to it myself that the man is horse-whipped for the harm he has done. He may answer to Miss Donoghue but in having injured one of my own tenants, I shall have him answer to me too. I believe I shall be less forgiving when it comes to justice.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I cannot express my appreciation enough.”

She excused herself, calling to the barman to inquire as to whether there was a table reserved for her meeting, which the barman confirmed there was- it was the booth opposite that had been visibly cleared for her arrival. Satisfied, she placed the records and the cash register that she had brought with her onto the table, situating them close to where she planned to sit. Despite her preference to remove her coat, she elected not to; there was a reputation she must uphold and with her newfound involvement as a landowner, she felt its significance more so than before. Yvonne refused to be nonchalant- it would be appropriate, she felt, to assert her authority in these matters early so that there was no confusion on her part. 

Seating herself at the table, she withheld her breath, and a particular opinion, when she noted the approach of a long-standing tenant, Benjamin Massey. Massey was a retired Sergeant who had taken the role of a farmhand and blacksmith simultaneously on his return to Bedford. His vigour was suitable for the work he endured, although his fortitude, she felt, was less durable, and she had come to question how dependable his nature truly was. In her absence, Sutton had taken to noting the shift in the political tension around town, Massey being one who was dedicated to the cause of the southern riots. The man’s saunter alluded to such beliefs as he approached Yvonne, undoubtedly hopeful that she understood his radical intentions. She did, though she made no sign of it as he sat before her. 

“Fifty-pound rent, I believe,” she noted, impatient to have the meeting completed. 

Her haste was met with aversion, his sizeable body leaning backward to rest against the wooden bench, his broad hands coming to rest atop his thighs. If the impression was to be intimidating then she was not fooled; even so, she was agitated, wishing the conversation to be taken seriously rather than as an attempt at browbeating. 

“That was not the price agreed upon,” he stipulated. “We agreed on a lower price since the roof was in a bad state when I renewed my yearly lease. In that time, it has become worse, so I agreed with Lady Davers, as Sutton was unavailable, that the rent would be lowered to forty-eight pound. That is a fair price for the condition of the roof.” 

“You will find, Mister Massey, that my mother does not speak on my behalf, particularly when it comes to business matters. I find it believable that she agreed to the terms if only to be rid of you; besides, she has no lasting say in my tenants nor how they are managed. I do, however, and as far as I am aware, there is no contractual agreement to refer to. This is unacceptable and I will defer to our original agreement of fifty pounds.”

Massey leant forward, a glower forming. “The roof remains unfixed, Miss Davers, so I believe that I am in my right to contend the price. Until such provisions are made for the state of my home, I will pay the forty-eight.”

“Was the roof an issue during the winter?” she questioned, brow rising. “Surely, if it was, you would have seen to its repair sooner? A man of your talent and trade, you are in a position to do the repairs yourself. In the lease, it states that you are responsible for the maintenance of the building, which, by extension, includes the roof. Unfortunately for you, the agreement of a half-deaf woman, who is not your landowner in any sense of the word, is not any kind of agreement at all. I can offer you the two pounds owed as a contribution to the costs, but I will not pay you any money; I believe you are not owed anything more than that. The roof should have been fixed by now, Mister Massey, which I am sure you are aware of and you shall not swindle me out of any more money. You have had long enough.”

Massey growled. “That was not the understanding.”

Yvonne hardly cared for the agreement between her mother and Massey; it should not have been created in the first place. She raised her gaze from the arrears, maintaining an eye contact that either would be loath to break. 

“I will inspect the roof tomorrow,” she proposed, “but in regards to next month, I expect fifty pounds as originally agreed.” On perceiving the way he sat forward, his lips parting to utter some disagreement that she could not bear to hear, Yvonne held up her finger to silence him. “All rent is calculated meticulously and fairly. I pride myself on ensuring that all my tenants receive an honest price. Depending upon each collection, I calculate them on a house by house basis. For that, I do not expect to collect any more than what is necessary. I expect to be treated with respect; in return, I shall extend the same courtesy to you. If you cannot honour the lease that you have agreed to, there is no shortage of men searching for such land and property that I happen to own, and they would be grateful for the residence given to them. I am sure they will work twice as hard on the farms for it. The choice is yours, Massey, but I am perfectly content either way.” 

Leaning back, his hands curled on his lap, a scowl forming.

“I only have forty-eight with me,” he grumbled. 

Satisfied, Yvonne started to note the finance in her book. “Then you may owe me two pounds, alongside the arrears from January. However, if you use the money owed to fix the roof then I shall discard any mention of debt. If that were the case, I expect all repairs to be completed to my satisfaction and within the agreed time limit, which will be discussed tomorrow morning when I come to see you.”

She considered her proposal more courteous than he deserved, though he appeared to disagree, scoffing and tossing the rolled packet of money across the table. Thinking him impudent, she stared at him for a minute, her gaze hard and searching before it lowered to her record book. A note was detailed on their agreement and the time in which she predicted its completion. With their meeting finished, Massey stood, halting before he was to walk away. The motion caught her attention, despite herself, and she frowned up at him in questioning disapproval. 

His dark gaze stared down at her, equally dark brows knitting together. “The land is for the free; it belongs to no man. There will come a time when landlords will be thrown from their land, and they shall no longer do as they please.”

Yvonne was indifferent in any case; she was performing the role left for her by her father, and his ancestors before him. The responsibility which came with the Park was one that she took seriously- it was one that had been established for generations. She hardly believed that a man of little substance should have the opportunity to equal her. His sole displeasure was in his belittlement, which she could not help, and there was small chance in it being righted, so he would merely continue to be displeased. 

She stared at him, a smile forming upon her lips, nodding in acknowledgement. Then she stood, her height allowing for them to stand as equals. He was close to intimidation- his stature and strength would have allowed for it, yet she could smell the liquor on his breath and she knew him to be a cad. 

“You are correct on one fact, Mister Massey,” she remarked. “The land does not belong to a man; it belongs to me. As for your generous warning, I must say that you can do all you wish, for when the time comes, I shall give as good a fight as anybody.” 

Standing there, impeccably still, Yvonne maintained her stare with his, both of them waiting for the other to step aside. It was apparent to her that he was startled by her reaction, having expected her to retreat, though he found, to his dismay, that she did not. Massey emitted a short huff of laughter, as if to convince them both that she did not alarm him, and then, he left. She watched him as he weaved through the tables and round the bar, questioning whether she trusted him to frequent her inn, particularly when he believed in the cause of the southern riots. Resolving to observe his behaviour, she called for the next tenant in the queue, seating herself once more. 

Massey had stopt at the bar, speaking in lowered tones to the men who stood there, demanding a drink a moment later. Vexed, Yvonne scowled, the irritable expression on her face seen by him from across the room. He faltered in his speech before shuffling onto the bar stool, sipping at the drink he had been served. She knew, without a doubt, that he would be taxing, perhaps more so than her new business venture. Massey had gradually become more outspoken about his thoughts, this disobedience marking itself plainer by the day. If his intention was to draw her tenants’ interest toward the riots, Yvonne would not allow him the satisfaction of besting her. 

Opposite, one of her elder farmhands, Mr Brown, sat down. His rheumatic hands twisted the cap between them, the material withering synchronously with him. Yvonne continued to finish her notes relating to Massey, barely glancing up as she addressed Brown. No matter how she spoke to him, she knew the man would be grieved- it was hardly good news. 

With a brief glance, she said- “I will not be renewing your lease. A younger man could improve the land and at a much faster rate. Your acres have fallen into disarray; you are no longer capable of working on the farm. I need someone who can manage the land, so from today, your contract will not be reinstated. Thank you, Mister Brown.”

The man could barely protest before she had called for the next tenant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more chapters then we start getting to the good stuff, I promise!


	11. First And Last

Clement Ingham was introduced by a rapping of knuckles against the door. Pleased that he had arrived on time, Yvonne admitted him into her study, offering the unoccupied seat opposite her desk. He took it, anxious that she had addressed him, though she could not think why. She inquired into whether he wanted a glass of port, to which he assented. Turning to the cabinet, she took two glasses from the shelf. 

Yvonne opened the decanter, speaking to him, despite her back being turned. “Whilst collecting my rents, I had five of my better tenants mention you by name, Mister Ingham. I thought, on reflection, it would be wise to send for you.”

She turned to him, glasses in hand, noting, as she did, that his gaze ran from her boots to her neck. Ingham’s cheeks flushed, abashed to have been seen studying her. Despite his flustered response, she understood that his attention was drawn by curiosity rather than fancy. He was not the first to be confounded by her appearance, the suit that she wore, nor would he be the last. Withal, she felt it was imperative that the moment be returned to its original intent, wishing to speak about business. 

“I am aware that, whilst Mister Sutton is currently alive, it would be a sensitive matter to appoint a new delegate; however, I feel the need for such a person at this time.” 

Ingham nodded slowly, hoping to grasp the reasons for him being there. “Yes, ma’am, I can be discrete if you require me to be. I shall do all that you ask...”

He fumbled to an end, conscious that she was watching him, and finding, in his heightened awareness, that he was intimidated by her. Yvonne stood before him, taller than him in standing height, and stared down, barely a foot away, scrutinising his face till she was satisfied with the sincerity in his eyes. Humming contentedly, she turned from him, her hands reaching behind her back and clasping together. She approached the chair at her desk, seating herself upon it and asking- “Where do you currently reside?”

“I live at Colworth House, ma’am, under the employment of Miss Donoghue, who has recently come to live here.” 

Yvonne leant back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other whilst her elbow rested on top, her chin settling gently on her curled fist. “Yes, I did hear of her coming to Bedford; she was here the previous week. I was not home, however, when she visited so I have yet to make her acquaintance. You are the steward for her estate, I believe?”

“That is correct, yes,” he asserted. “I am grateful to Miss Donoghue; the previous owner, Mister William Chesterfield, was unwilling to house me, but at the lady’s wish, she has homed my family and I, which is not an act of kindness that many would usually bestow upon me. You see, I have six children and most employers would view them as an encumbrance, no matter my qualifications.”

“Six children?” Her eyebrows rose. “My word, you have been busy! I can hardly imagine having so many. In forbearance alone, I must commend you.”

“Thank you, ma’am...”

“You see, Mister Ingham, I am not at leisure to remain here long. No, I do not plan to be at Haynes Park longer than several weeks. Adequate time, I should think, in sorting my affairs and ensuring all is well before I leave again.”

Ingham was impressed, leaning forward in his interest to hear her plans. “Travelling? Where do you intend to visit, Miss Davers?”

The hand that was curled under her chin flicked outward, nonchalant as she gestured that she was unsure. “I have yet to decide. For some time, I have considered Moscow, or Virginia, or even Copenhagen. I find Moscow to be the most enthralling option, though I had two ancestors who travelled to Virginia to engage in the timber trade, importing wood, so I should be interested to see the place for myself. Besides, my father fought in the states- at Lexington and Concord. He was there during the Boston Party, you know.” She paused, ensuring the correct impact had been made upon her guest before continuing. “But in any case, I do not wish to stay, so I shall be in want of a competent steward.

“I expect them to be a good writer as I shall require regular updates on my land and my farms. It is imperative that I remain well-informed at all times when it comes to the Park and the sublets that I have here, do you understand? In addition, this position requires that you have a tendency for detail, whilst eschewing confidence and capability. You will need to make balanced and considered decisions; I expect nothing less. These qualities will mainly be required in my absence, yet I shall continue to be in need of an assistant and delegate whilst I am here. This description, does it seem fair to you?”

“Yes, ma’am, of course.” After weighing her requirements, Ingham had fallen into a state of nervousness. Bedford was a small town, after all, and nobody could escape the hearsay surrounding the Davers family, particularly the eldest daughter. Ingham did not believe he was in a position to place judgement, but he was eager to please and he had to wonder whether she was the type of woman to be easily pleased. “May I ask who I would be answerable to in the event of all this?” 

There had been unclarity from the Davers family, following the death of Lord Davers, in regards to who had inherited the estate, its land, and subsequently, its trade. The agricultural trade was of the most significance; it left ambiguity as to who the workers were answerable to. The farmhands had insisted, since the passing of the Lord, that it had fallen into the hands of his eldest daughter, and had always been the case, though the town had heard several rumours that it had been handed to Lady Davers upon her husband’s death, though she was loathe to have it, and others which stated that it had gone to a cousin, some retired naval officer by the title of Captain- a long-distanced branch of the Davers family who currently resided in Wales. It was said that only by his grace were the three women allowed to remain within their family home. 

As to what Ingham believed, he was sure that the farmhands could not be wrong in knowing who their employer was, and so, he trusted that Yvonne Davers had always been the inheritor of the estate. Such disbelief to her inheritance was simply ignorance on the town’s part for believing that she was incapable of handling the responsibility. Seated opposite her, Ingham was confronted with the reality that she was capable on every account, and it would be difficult to think otherwise when faced with her in person. Nevertheless, if he were to be hired by the family, he wished to know, once and for all, who his employer would be. He found, however, that Yvonne did not hesitate in telling him so. The moment he had finished speaking, her lips had already opened. 

“Me,” she informed him, interrupting his question. “First and last. Mother has no head for business, not anymore, nor does she wish to be involved. She merely views it as a burden. So, as you can see, I am the one who you will direct all correspondence to, nobody else.”

Ingham was astonished by this fact, veritably impressed with her authority. He did not appear perturbed, a reaction she had come to expect, and that encouraged her. 

“Then I shall keep to that, ma’am,” he assured her. 

Pleased, she leant forward, arms against the armrest as her legs spread out to anchor her in a more stable position. Yvonne had heard, through some of her tenants, that Ingham was reliable when it came to matters of business and she wanted to hear all he thought of her upcoming plan for the unused factory.

“What do you know of the lace business?” she questioned.

“I am aware that you have a good set-up already,” he said. “With the factory you already own, it would be quite easy to establish the machinery needed for producing lace. I am sure, with the income you receive, you would be able to build another factory with little issue. As for your supplies, I know that you have connections across the country who have links to similar businesses and would, no doubt, trade with you or supply you with the additional resources you need.”

“When speaking to Sutton, he mentioned there was fortune to be had in lace, especially within Bedfordshire. He mentioned the Dunce brothers...”

Ingham flinched, displeased to have them mentioned. “I would not lease to them, ma’am.” 

“Why?” she frowned, knowing the brothers to be of importance when it came to the lace business. Yvonne had hoped for them to be associates of hers. 

“There is too much money to be made,” he conceded. “It is better that you conduct the factory yourself. If you were to lease to them, you would not make a desirable profit.”

Encouraged, Yvonne sat back, incapable of disguising how pleased she was to hear such news. It was the confirmation she had needed to continue. 

“How shall I contact suppliers? I know of some from my own connections, but I would not make a deal without first knowing it was the best offer available to me.”

“I cannot name them,” Ingham admitted, “but I should soon find them for you.”

Quiet for a moment, Yvonne persisted in the case of the brothers. “Why can I not do business with the Dunces?”

At her insistence, Ingham paused before asking- “Do you know them socially?”

“No, neither do I care to.” 

Relieved at her answer, he continued. “Due to the profits that you may receive, lace has become a cut-throat business. People may be disinclined to adhere to the rules, or even by propriety, and the Dunce brothers are not known as pleasant people to do business with.” 

Leaning forward once more, Yvonne rested her elbows atop her thighs, staring intently across at him. She was inquisitive of her new associates and rivals, as much as she was for the business itself, and she was grateful for the knowledge of the town’s trade that Ingham possessed. 

“Kenneth is the youngest,” he was saying, “and I believe he is somewhat manageable, if not a little conceited. The oldest, Martin, believes that he is above the law. He holds the monopoly on local businesses, besides farming, and is a magistrate for the town. The brothers own two factories for lace and have done for eight years now. In that case, I would not be surprised if they were found to be taking business from you, in terms of your agriculture, and once your factory is operating and you have a greater understanding of the process and prices, that you may prove it.” 

Yvonne had not considered that the brothers had been interfering with her farms and yet, she found, with this new possibility, the newfound animosity she felt in its discovery. It was well-known that lace was made from flax, a plant that her land produced, and under the assumption she had been selling them the plant for consumption, the brothers seemed to have used the cheap cost to produce a product of more expensive means, thus severely undercutting her in the deals she had made with them, having been unaware of the plant’s real use. In supposing that was the case, Yvonne wished to know immediately. 

There was a liveliness in her eyes, despite her indifferent expression. It seemed that she had taken a moment to process the newness of this information, having not considered such a violation before, not of her trade. In believing her unsure, Ingham pressed his advice. 

“If you were to have a factory of your own, you would not only receive considerable profit, but would also be in a position to supervise their business ventures closely without suspicion, particularly if it were to affect your farms. You would reap the benefits of this in every sense.” 

Contemplating the information, Yvonne quirked her lips upward, relief emerging in place of her anxiety. She had been assured on the possibility of her new trade, knowing it to have the potential needed for success, and all she had left was to implement it. That would not be difficult, she surmised, not if she were to have a say in its construction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who the two brothers are based off... 
> 
> Also, this is the last chapter of this volume that focuses on business. The next three are all about Yvonne and Bonnie, and potentially.... a meeting.


	12. Accustomed to Outbursts

Stood at the window, silhouette draped in sunlight, the glare caused her shadow to extend across the floorboards. Josephine was radiant, basking in the warmth as she peered through the glass, staring out to what lay beyond the apartment walls, to some distant future that Yvonne could not perceive nor comprehend; it was a fate that was not extended to her. Their subsequent separation had arrived earlier than expected, in sentiment rather than distance. Yvonne was sat upon the loveseat, the one which she had discovered the two lovers upon, apprehensive that she should be joined, though her wish was not granted. 

Josephine continued to stand by the glass, her attention remaining on the world below rather than the room where she stood. It was uncertain whether she was aware of her companion, whether she could sense her gaze as it traced her physique. They had not extended a conversation to the other, not since the proposal, and they had refused to meet the other’s eye, a combination of shame and discontent following in its wake. Now, they were alone together, allowing Yvonne to consider that she had never seemed so splendid as she did then, an extemporary thought that came with the realisation that Josephine was no longer hers. 

She stood, her gaze falling to the lace hem of the gentlewoman’s dress, the way it settled below her collarbone, and the agitated way her fingers plucked at the material, twisting it back and forth. Steadily, Yvonne approached her, cautious that she may hear an objection as she did. When nothing was said, she persisted, drawing closer till her front was almost pressed against Josephine’s back. Josephine did not move, despite her fingers that continued to pluck at the hem. Heartened, Yvonne felt the edge of her lips twitch upward, supposing that the response signified doubts in her proposal with the Captain. She slowly inhaled, detecting the perfume that lingered around Josephine’s neck and shoulders, one she had become accustomed to, its presence bringing her comfort. 

Her lips brushed along the base of Josephine’s neck, proceeding across her shoulders, leaving a faint mark of breath where her mouth had been. Yvonne felt the muscles move under her lips, a simultaneous reaction from Josephine as she inhaled sharply, her head turning to watch the careless kisses left on her skin. There was a moment’s pause before- “Stop.”

Lingering, Yvonne closed her eyes, discouraged in the outcome, in contempt of the fact she knew the woman to be engaged. Her breath barely passed her parted lips, such was her disappointment. She knew that all had been lost. Leaning forward, she contemplated kissing her once more, one final attempt, but she stepped back, her hands coming to rest behind her, clutching onto each other to hide her vexation. It was fitting, she decided, for them to remain distant; if Yvonne were to be near her any longer, she may be driven senseless. 

Startled, Yvonne blinked dazedly in the light, uncertain as to where she was before her gaze came to settle on her astonished reflection in the mirror. She had jerked unexpectedly, the recollection causing her sufficient distress, and in doing so, she had forgotten where she was. From behind, Paulette was heard apologising, thinking it to be her fault for her mistress’s sudden convulsion. Yvonne murmured she was not at fault, preoccupied by the desperate beating of her heart. She gestured for Paulette to continue, fidgeting in her seat, hoping that the motion of the comb through her hair would distract her. Her disturbance was half borne from discomfort and she wished she had righted herself before falling into such a daydream. 

Mrs Alston was expected to arrive at any moment; she was a lifelong friend of Yvonne’s and one whom she aspired to impress, despite their familiarity. Florence would sense, on her arrival, that some misfortune had passed whilst her friend was abroad, and Yvonne wished to sustain a fraction of her gaiety. It had been illustrated, by her mother and sister, that her torment was unmistakeable and she wished to avoid another blunder. Regardless, she was certain that Florence would perceive her spirits to be amiss, despite her best efforts. In her sympathy, she would assist in relieving her dismay as best as she could, a service her poor friend sorely required, as well as one which Florence took great pleasure in aiding her with. Her comfort was sincere, though it often displayed itself through numerous attempts, most often misguided, until she discovered an outcome that suited them both. 

Yvonne’s thoughts began to wander, attempting to return her reflection to its original intent, irritable that she had allowed herself to be carried away so easily. To compensate, Yvonne inquired into Paulette’s well-being, knowing that she had spent her first four days ill. Mrs Prescott had assured her mistress that the girl’s pains had altogether vanished, yet despite the reports from her housekeeper, Paulette appeared distressed, her features paler than usual, despite her tan complexion.

“Non, je ne suis pas tout à fait mieux, madame_(3)_ ,” was the response. 

Before Yvonne could inquire further, there was a knock at the door. The footman entered to announce Mrs Alston’s arrival; her carriage had arrived in the courtyard. Anxious that she was not prepared, Yvonne waved Paulette away, satisfied that her hair did not need further grooming. She adjusted her cravat, ensuring it was placed correctly, despite it being tied well, before seizing the glass bottle from her desk, roughly dabbing cologne at her neck and wrists. It had been almost three years since she had last seen her friend, and Yvonne felt the importance of maintaining her good impression, despite Florence knowing every fault she could own to.

She hurried from the room, across the corridor, and down the stairs. As she did, she checked her watch, noting, with satisfaction, that there were ample hours in the day for the two to divulge in every manner of conversation before it was time to retire. Swinging the chain in a circular motion, she caught it within her hand before pocketing it in her waistcoat. 

Yvonne exited the building as Florence was stepping from the coach. Gesturing for the driver to move aside, Yvonne extended her hand so that her friend may take it. She did so, exclaiming with surprise in finding it to be that of her cohort. They came to face each other, pressing a firm kiss on either side of their cheeks. 

“Florence.”

“Vee, what a tiresome journey it has been, although I feel it has been made all the better by seeing you.”

She seized Yvonne by the arm, allowing herself to be led indoors with a pleasure induced solely from their union. Their elation was palpable, both wishing to inform the other of all that had happened since their last meeting, despite the frequent letters that had been sent in the meantime. Yvonne was inquiring into her journey when there was an exclamation from the door, Penny calling out in her delight. 

“Floss!” She bounded down the stone steps. “You have come!”

Florence removed her arm from Yvonne’s, enveloping Penny in a firm embrace. They held each other for some minutes until Florence leant back, her hands cupping the girl’s plump face.  
“It is charming to see that our little star grows brighter every time I see her,” she declared. “What a fine woman you are becoming.”

Penny flushed, pleased to have received a compliment. Her sister, however, was less content, folding her arms.

“Brighter in intellect, but I must say she is becoming a burden by nature.”

Florence was nonplussed. “She must have freedom, Vee. It is only natural. You cannot keep such a lovely girl locked away here; that is a crime in its truest form.”

“I suppose that would make you a villain,” Penny suggested, directing the remark to her sister.

She raised her brows with a smirk, though Yvonne was less pleased, glowering in response. She did not reply for fear of offending, watching Penny as she turned prissily, sauntering back to the house, her arm linked with their guest. Residing with her younger sister was difficult, she felt, without having her behaviour encouraged, and Yvonne did not want the evening to be total roguery- Florence was not always the best influence for those who were easily swayed. Believing herself correct on the matter of Penny, despite her friend’s chastisement, she followed the two, disgruntled but resolved in her fairness.

Ø

“I have to ask why you would want to involve yourself within the lace business. What could possibly interest you about the whole ordeal? It is beyond me, I must say. What an irksome way to spend your time when you could simply go dining with friends, or start another one of those horribly boorish books you own. In fact, that would be counterproductive. You have spent too much time with your books and now, you are endeavouring on a business that is entirely unnecessary when your farms are doing well. You read too much and that has given you ideas that are best left to theory. I cannot begin to understand your reasoning; can you, my Lady?”

Lady Davers merely snorted as she ate her lamb, too offended by the subject to voice her opinion. 

“It is simply more trouble than it is worth,” Florence continued, barely pausing in her chatter. “Do you even know how to implement such a business?”

Yvonne ran her knife vigorously through her food, her chewing equally zealous. She had become agitated in the face of questioning; it had been her presumption that Florence would be supportive, but as she was not, her barrage of criticisms was unwelcome. 

“It has the same structure of farming, in its own way,” she uttered. “I have appointed a delegate who may assist me in any area that I am unfamiliar with, and I have acquired some books that detail the workings of a factory, particularly one of this type. Besides, I am not worried about what shall happen since I know I will do what is right.”

Penny clasped her hands together, sighing happily. “I would relish having such a close connection to lace. It would be fortunate, indeed, to have a sister who owns her own factory. I think I shall have some sewn onto my dress and perhaps onto a lovely new bonnet.”

“It is bad money,” Lady Davers interjected. “You will gamble our fortune on the factories, merely to lose it. The inheritance and the estate shall be lost to bad business ventures; it will be ruinous.” She peered across at Yvonne, her gaze searching hazily for her daughter. “I have a right to live here!”

Florence was regretful in starting an impassioned dispute, despite being accustomed to Lady Davers’ outbursts, having heard them many a time before. She ate a forkful of potatoes in amused silence, hoping Yvonne managed to diffuse the situation that she had created. 

Provoked, Yvonne’s voice rose. “It will be profitable! If the books are balanced, which they are, there should be no issue.”

“And what of Fred Brown?” Lady Davers raised her voice in return, though it may have been due to her difficulty in hearing rather than her fury. “He has sent me a letter of complaint.”

Yvonne exhaled heavily, the sound almost a groan. “I did him a kindness. He could no longer afford to pay rent and he is unable to labour in the field. It would be a humiliation to him.”

“He has nowhere to live,” Penny interjected. 

“He can live with his family; they live in this town, do they not? If they do not house him then that is merely a reflection either on him or them, not me. I require efficient and capable workers.” She raised a brow at Lady Davers, who was struggling to chew her meat. “It is unlike you to be sentimental, mother, yet I run this estate and its land how I see fit; nothing will go wrong.”

Rare that Penny felt the need to oppose her sister’s opinion, particularly when it came to affairs that she knew nothing of nor when it meant that she agreed with her mother, but she felt that it was a wrong more harmful than she could bear. 

“He is eighty years old,” she contended. 

Yvonne raised her shoulders sharply, allowing them to fall once more into their usual position. “Yes, so he cannot farm.”

Penny tried to disguise her vexation when she happened upon this indifference, yet her voice trembled in her provocation. “You have upheaved our current system, upset our workers, and all for you to leave again at the earliest convenience. Do you think of anybody but yourself?”

Yvonne’s fork clattered onto the plate, her expression incensed. “That is quite satisfactory, thank you! Mrs Alston does not wish to discuss this, especially when at the dinner table.”

Penny forcibly chewed on her cabbage, the two sisters glaring at each other from across the table. Lady Davers was muttering about unprecedented temper within the household, directing it into her wine glass rather than at anybody in particular. When silence had passed for several minutes, she peered in the general direction of Florence. 

“So, how is the husband? Does he continue to grace you with his presence?”

Florence managed a small smile. “Yes, he does but I hardly see him nowadays. From what I can tell, he is perfectly fine when he is away from home and I find that I, too, am perfectly content when I am left to my own endeavours. Let us pray that it remains that way.”

Lady Davers muttered anew, referring to the degree in which she despised men and their follies. 

“I told you that it was a mistake to marry him,” Yvonne grumbled.

“You think marrying any man is a mistake, dear. No man could ever satisfy you.”

Yvonne slowly sipped her wine before placing it back onto the table. “No, they could not.”

Florence found the comment to be amusing, her chuckle barely disguised, which equally entertained Yvonne. Seated between them, Penny watched the two, unsure as to whether she should join their laughter. The two were not subtle in their meaning, though they would adamantly deny that a girl her age should understand it, despite how openly they hinted at the reason for Yvonne’s aversion. She wondered if she would ever be allowed to insinuate as they did without causing offence, or whether she must remain in feigned ignorance of her sister and her life. It was never entirely clear which way Yvonne preferred it nor did the woman ever deign to explain herself; it was left unspoken.

Ø

The candlelight flickered, burning slowly to the end of its wick, its light reaching from the table to the armchair beside it. Across the room, the wood within the fireplace burnt leisurely, its flames dwindling to embers. Florence had grown tired of staring out of the window, removing herself from the ledge to sit on the armchair, watching Yvonne as she read. They had spent the evening talking, mentioning all that had happened in the other’s absence, details they had not dared to share on paper. Yet, Florence was not so unsuspecting as to forget that Yvonne had avoided mentioning her recent trip abroad- nothing pleased her more than to be boastful and in her silence, she exposed the irregularity of her reserve. Despite Florence knowing the reason behind it, she felt that addressing the cause of her upset would be beneficial to her recovery.

“Tell me about Paris.”

“No.”

Florence heeded the way she sat in sullen silence, her gaze never rising from her book, a distinct contrast to her earlier gaiety. It occurred to her that she had the answer to Yvonne’s hurt, but it was a conversation that they had discussed many a time and it always had the same outcome.

“You know how I see this, Vee,” she declared. “I think, in all seriousness, that you should consider marrying a man.” Noting the way Yvonne sighed heavily as she dropped the book in her lap, a scowl forming as she glared across, Florence persisted, determined that she was correct. “You could have all you want and desire; nobody would say a thing. There is no agreement to say you would have to share any form of intimacy, not if he understood. Perhaps he will be grateful for the concealment too.”

“I thought you knew me.”

“I know you too well.”

Yvonne sat forward, tossing her book onto the nearby coffee table. “Then you must surely know that I will never marry a man. I could not; the idea is abominable to me.” 

Florence believed her judgement to be reasonable, feeling so justified as to mention that thought to Yvonne. Offended, her companion interrupted her, raising her hand to gesture that she desired the matter to be settled. 

“I want to live my life with someone I love and someone who loves me in return, a person who is there for me all the time and wants to be. A woman who does not endure my presence solely because she has no husband and is starved for intimacy and a little friendship.” 

Florence faltered, knowing the subject to be sensitive. She leant forward, wishing she were closer so she may reach across and touch her. 

“That is simply not the reality of things!” she contended. “The fact of the matter is that you will continue to upset yourself by loving women who wish to be married to men. I care about you, Yvonne, and I cannot stand to see you so troubled. It may be that nobody else will tell you directly, not for fear of upset, but I shall- you need to find someone who matches you or you need to give the whole thing up.”

Yvonne leapt forward, spurred by some excitable thought. She knelt at the foot of the armchair, clinging onto Florence’s thigh, the material of her skirts bunched in her hand.

“Then let us travel to Paris or Italy...” she whispered breathlessly. “You and I, Floss. It would be a fantastic adventure.”

Florence sighed, her hand coming to rest atop Yvonne’s, regretful rather than comforting. “That is no life, for you nor I. You must face your fears here.”

Yvonne became glum, a scowl forming. 

“I suppose that is one way of seeing it,” she muttered. 

Florence craned her neck downward, hoping to catch her eye, though Yvonne was staring wistfully at the fireplace. “What are you hiding from? What is it about this world that you cannot bear to face? You are always one step ahead, trying to prove that you are more than people say you are. The issue with you, dear, is that you are more than anybody could ever credit you with. You are brilliant, intriguing, not of this world; you do not belong with the people you try to associate yourself with.”

“Then who do I belong with?” It was meant to be satirical, though there was a hopefulness in her question that she could not disguise. 

“Someone who you may never meet,” Florence remarked, softly. “Would it not be pertinent for you to remain in reality?”

Yvonne ground her teeth, continuing to stare at the fire rather than her friend. “Reality is not always the whole sum of things. Mediocrity is not for me; I shall not succumb to it. I would loathe to be as prosaic as some people I have met. I want love and life in every form, with no compromises. I shall have it, Florence, even if it is to hurt me.”

“It will hurt you...”

“Then why will you not come with me?” exclaimed Yvonne, clinging to Florence’s skirts. She raised her gaze, tears brimming that she refused to shed. 

Florence winced. “Oh, my dear, because this is not love and that is all you have ever hoped for. It would hurt me if I were to lose you; if I went, I would. I am not you, Vee, nor can I pretend to be. I cannot do all that you can; Paris or Italy, it is not for me and neither is that type of life. You would suffer for it and come to resent me, which I could not bear. You need more than a friend, more than some fancy to keep you occupied for the time-being. 

“The woman who defies society and their very belief of human nature, who will agree to be your partner and equal in every sense of the word, who will give all they have to make you happy, well, they will be a truly extraordinary woman indeed. Yet, I have to ask whether that person exists? I have thought some years on it now and I am sorry to say that I think there is no woman like the one you are searching for.”

Yvonne was distressed, wishing the conversation would come to its conclusion. She moved as if she were to stand, but Florence took hold of her hand, pulling it to her lips to kiss it, hoping Yvonne would take comfort from the action. 

“Perhaps it is time to be realistic,” she advised. “You deserve a little happiness.”

Thrusting her hand away, Yvonne stood, her back turned. Florence exhaled heavily, calling her name in exasperation. 

“There is no need to be dramatic! I came here to see you well and I have found you irritable and inhospitable. If I cannot say anything to suit you then can I not produce it in action? What would you have me say?”

Yvonne peered over her shoulder. “You have said all there is to say. There is nothing else to be done, so I shall bid you goodnight.”

Florence stood, reaching out to seize her wrist, but Yvonne was already leaving. 

“Yvonne...”

“Goodnight, Florence.”

Brow furrowing, she watched her flee the room, calling after her once more in the hope she changed her mind. When there was no reply, Florence sighed heavily, her hands rising to her chest to clasp together. She blew out the candle, leaving the fire to dwindle to nothing, and in the dark, she said- “Goodnight, Vee.”

Chapter Notations

3\. No, I am not entirely better, madam.


	13. Quite The Admirer

On receiving a letter of confirmation from Miss Yvonne Davers, Ingham resolved to speak to Miss Donoghue at the earliest convenience in regards to his employment. He was admitted into Colworth House where he requested an audience with the lady, to which she replied in the positive. Led into the parlour, he found her seated opposite Miss Ainsley, who appeared to be indignant that their conversation had been disturbed. As for Bonnie, she was indifferent to the interruption, a genuine smile appearing when she noted his entrance. 

“Excuse me for the interruption, ma’am.” He bowed, anxious in the eventuality that she may refuse his request. Ingham did not want to be the man to decline Miss Davers’ invitation for employment. “I was summoned to a meeting four days ago by Miss Davers, and she has granted an offer for me to be her delegate in business. I was hoping to speak with you on the matter.”

Bonnie shuffled in her seat, sitting up straighter. “That is Miss Yvonne Davers of Haynes Park?”

“Ay, ma’am, it is. I have thought on the hours of my employment, concluding the days I shall be able to work for the both of you. Between the two estates, I reckon that I can easily fit the management of both within equal hours. I will be at the Park solely in my spare time and I promise you that it will not affect the work I do here. Your estate is considered first priority to me.” 

She did not respond immediately, he thinking that she was disturbed by the news. Her lips had parted and she stared incredulously at him, blinking slowly, before turning to Miss Ainsley, who appeared equally uncertain of the lady’s reaction. Then she smiled, a huff of laughter escaping, though she still seemed surprised. Bonnie glanced back to Ingham, nodding enthusiastically. 

“Yes, Mister Ingham, that would be fine.” Bashful, her hands fumbled together, her voice stumbling as she tried to say what she wished. “I-if you should ever need a reference, why, all you have to do is ask. I shall have one for you... for Miss Davers if she wishes to speak to me... She may speak to me anytime she likes. If that is necessary.”

Ingham thought her reaction peculiar, though he did not linger on it, for he believed to do so would be impolite. His questioning stare was diverted, quite luckily for Bonnie, by Miss Ainsley, her voice carrying across with self-appointed gravitas. 

“I was not aware that Miss Davers was home.”

Ingham was amused on the subject, thinking of the eccentric noblewoman and the design she held for the Park and its trade. “Indeed, she is, ma’am."

Miss Ainsley was delighted by the answer, her grave expression forming into a visage of glee. She called across to Bonnie, despite the young lady not sitting too far from her.

“We must call on her!” she exclaimed, ardently, before turning back to Ingham. “I must admit that I am quite the admirer of her work.”

Encouraged by her praise, Ingham added his own. “When I spoke to her, she mentioned how she had collected her own rents that morning, and when I went to the inn later, I heard of it instantly from the men there. They were all talking of it.”

For a woman who did not believe in anything other than a female’s right to domestic and marital bliss, Miss Ainsley regarded the comment with the utmost delectation. 

“Such prudence speaks well of her character and work ethic. I would expect no less from the likes of Yvonne Davers.”

“She has taken the steps necessary to relieve Sutton of his duties and has done so without embarrassment to his capability,” Ingham added. “In conducting the work herself, she has spared her former delegate and continues to plan for a new undertaking, which, I hope I may say without sounding boastful, she has confided in me. Miss Davers is truly remarkable.”

Miss Ainsley spoke primly, nodding in agreement, despite having never met the woman in question. “This would be the sort of thing she would do. I have always appreciated her- the Davers are a wondrous family and to observe her progress since accepting the mantle, I have been simply astonished at how extraordinarily well she has maintained their legacy. Despite the opinion of others, and the oddity of her nature, I have kept my good opinion of her. She has a quick mind, a plenitude of good breeding, and her adventurous spirit is admirable. She may not be feminine, not how people would expect, but she is authentic, which you cannot fault her for.”

Although she had not contributed to the conversation, Bonnie had plenty to say on what had been exchanged; however, she felt that her opinions were better kept unsaid. She had been distracted by her own thoughts, drawn from them by her custodian’s enthusiasm. Miss Ainsley had not expressed such a level of esteem for their neighbour before, and it had come as a surprise to Bonnie, who was silently encouraged by her opinion. It would surely aid her in creating an acquaintance with the family. Her old governess dwelled in the superficial and the frivolous, so for her to wish an audience with Yvonne Davers of all people was notable, yet with every encouraging word that came from her lips, Bonnie felt her smile widen, glowing in her pleasure. 

She came to wonder, as she often had those past seven years, since first hearing her neighbour’s name, what the woman was truly like. Bonnie thought she may be tall, well-spoken, and quite handsome- that was the consensus for those who had met her. Distracted, she thought of how her voice would sound, the colour of her eyes, and how she smelt, and what a woman like her would possibly need to be considered impressed. Bonnie could not begin to fathom all that she had hoped and wished for, and questioned her own ability to attain equal esteem in the lady’s opinion. The ordeal, as a whole, was excruciating and exhilarating, causing her to draw in her breath without remembering to release it. Grinning in dreamful bliss, Bonnie was drawn from her reverie by the calling of her name. 

Ingham was watching her, expectantly, whilst Miss Ainsley repeated her name, peevish that she must speak twice. Bonnie glanced between them, realising that Ingham had finished his visit, waiting for her permission to depart. She granted his leave, requesting once more, quite firmly, that if he wished for her to speak with Miss Davers in his joint employment, she would be content in doing so. He bowed, promising that he would ask if it were appropriate. 

Once he had exited the room, Bonnie fell into wistful silence, forgetting that she was with company. She was reminded abruptly when Miss Ainsley continued her appraisal, her volume too loud to ignore. 

“If you were to begin making acquaintances in this town, I think the Davers would be a perfect place to start. You will certainly be better for having met Miss Davers; she is the type of connection you want to have. Peculiar, yes, I think they all are, but their influence, in money and reputation, is unequalled, and by making a connection, they may introduce you to other fine families in the area.” 

“We almost did meet once,” Bonnie told her, sighing happily. Flustered that she had shown any type of preference, her cheeks began to colour, and she hurried to finish her story, rushing in breathless delight. “You see, when Louisa told me of the evening she had spent with Miss Davers, I asked her if she may take me to meet her, having made her acquaintance. It would have been unthinkable of me to have visited without first introducing myself, so I thought it appropriate that Louisa should be the one to do so, but she refused. I had hoped to meet her then, and when I heard she had left Dublin, I kept my hope for her return. By then, I would have been out to society and it would have been possible for us to chance across each other by connection, though she never did return...”

She halted, letting her account come to its end. The thought had caused her great upset, although it had remained unnoticed by Miss Ainsley, much was her excitement to engage in the hearsay that surrounded Yvonne Davers. 

“As I understand it, she has always been a free spirit- hard to capture. I doubt that she would return to Dublin, not any time soon, as she travels constantly. You remember Lady Davers- she said that she plans to travel as far as Moscow or Virginia next.” 

Bonnie had not wanted to be reminded, pained anew by the news that her efforts had been for naught. She could not understand why anyone would want to travel that far; it would be better, she believed, if Miss Davers were to remain at her family home, though she could not decipher if that were for her neighbour’s benefit or her own. Ignorant to Bonnie’s pained silence, Miss Ainsley continued, delighted to engage in gossip when it had been lacking so desperately since their arrival. She felt it the fault of her ward, who was determined that she should not meet anybody, yet held a sudden interest in the Davers family. Miss Ainsley would do all she could to ensure an acquaintance; it would become her sole occupation if it determined Bonnie a friendship in the area.

“She is hardly in England, by the sounds of it, so I doubt she would return to Ireland. It would be wise of us to take this opportunity in making her acquaintance whilst she is home, since we may not have the chance again for a long time. The likes of the Davers family as- pardon my enthusiasm- friends would be outstanding and as your chaperone, I cannot let this opportunity pass you by. I am almost inclined to say the accident was fortunate. We have made a friend of Lady Davers and Miss Penny. Having recovered from the incident, it would be prudent for us to arrange a following meeting to thank them once more in person.”

Despite the length of her postulations, no more words were regarded than those of a potential meeting. Bonnie was thrilled, beaming happily, nodding her agreement.

“Yes, I would like that.”

Miss Ainsley was ecstatic, having waited for Bonnie’s approval in the matter. So far, she had declined all potential acquaintances within the area; the young woman had believed them frivolous and of little interest to her. To have her agreement on one candidate for friendship, Miss Ainsley would do all she must to ensure their meeting. It would be of great consequence to her also, as fraternising in such social circles would undoubtedly cause her great pleasure and she thought it would benefit them both greatly to have such a connection. 

“I heard she is a good friend to have and I am sure the two of you shall be quite pleased with each other,” Miss Ainsley assured her. 

Bonnie had never hoped for anything more.


	14. Miss Donoghue Has Arrived

The sores had worsened to a state of irritation, an observation that Doctor Kensley merely seconded when he saw the leg for himself. It was an assessment that caused Lady Davers as much irritability as she surely felt on her legs, the rash and its open wounds spreading its way to her knees. With nobody to blame, she blamed the doctor and he appeared nervous at the accusation of her worsened condition, assuring her that there was not much more he could possibly do. 

“I will have Mrs Dern come this Thursday, ma’am, and she will have five leeches put to your leg.” He hoped that this would appease her, mistaken for thinking that anything could. “They will be an additional treatment to the herbs that I have prescribed you. For now, I will continue to monitor your condition, although there is not much to be done. They are not vanishing nor are they becoming worse, merely spreading across your leg.”

“Useless,” the baroness was heard muttering.

It was unclear who she directed the insult to, though the doctor assumed it was for him, being the most probable source, his hands quivering in the face of her wrath. He glanced to his side, hoping that Yvonne may aid him, yet she was aloof, watching him with as much irritability as her mother. Arms crossed, she felt obliged to be present, mainly in the understanding that Lady Davers needed a chaperone whilst the doctor examined her. Noting the way he glanced at her, cowering, she took advantage of his attention by asking-

“Have you seen Sutton recently?”

“Yes, I have, ma’am,” he affirmed, wrapping fresh bandages around the baroness’ shins and ankles. “It is unfortunate for me to report that he has a matter of days left.”

Yvonne had believed as much, the information more distressing now she knew the full truth of it. She had hoped that Sutton would live longer, though that was mere selfishness on her part, for the man suffered and it would be a relief for him to relinquish the agony he was in. On the subject of afflictions, she inquired into Elijah Bell, aware she had promised a visit to his home. Besides the brief report from his father, Yvonne had received no updates on his condition; as for Penny, she had kept unusually quiet on the subject after they had spoken the day of her arrival. 

“He is doing well, as well as he can. From all accounts, he will live a full life, despite his forced undertaking as an invalid.” The doctor was silent for a moment before he continued. “Speaking of the accident, I visited Colworth House this week and from what I observed, it seems to me that Miss Donoghue is not quite recovered.”

The subject caught Lady Davers’ attention, who peered up at him from her bed, mistrusting of his report. “Miss Donoghue was not injured in the accident; she left here in perfect condition. There was no account of an injury.”

“Not physically speaking.” Noting their silence, he mistook it for interest, standing once he had finished with the bandages. “She suffers with nerves, you see, and they have become worse since she has arrived here. The only companion she has is that of her old governess, Miss Ainsley. With little distraction from her lethargy, and her sole companion being that of an elderly woman, she is left with no diversion from her mundane routine.” Blathering, he did not notice that Lady Davers neglected to listen to him. As to Yvonne, she did not believe that such a detailed account was needed for a woman they were unfamiliar with, her arms crossing tighter in her offence. Heedless, the doctor continued. “The best remedy in aiding her recovery, I believe, is for her to work for a living and in being forced to do so, she will recover quite rapidly. She has too much time to be idle.”

Yvonne’s hands curled tighter in their folded position, a scowl forming upon her lips. “I hope you do not discuss our private affairs with your other patients, Doctor. I would find that most disconcerting.”

He was rightfully abashed at her remark, falling silent and attending to the medicine he had brought within his briefcase. Grateful for his silence, Yvonne unfolded her arms, striding over to the bed and sitting by her mother’s feet. The doctor’s reticence stirred Lady Davers into animation, her attempt at discussion merely subsiding into a reprimand. 

“Penny told me that she planned to call on Miss Donoghue; she is concerned that she is still in shock from the incident. If you would spare an hour of your time, she was hoping that you may accompany her.”

“That will suit Penny,” she remarked. “You know how she relishes new friends, but she gets carried away with her fancies. I am sure Miss Donoghue will find her amusing at first, though, in the end, she is hardly more of a distraction than the elderly she seems to surround herself with.”

Lady Davers stared at her with as much disapproval as she could muster, her long fingers gripping onto the white sheets that she lay under. “The accident occurred on your land. If you had any manners, you would visit the girl yourself and make amends. It would be wise, after such an incident, to make an acquaintance, even if it is to ensure they cannot voice any complaints when all has passed. You want to avoid offending anybody; I am sure you will do that enough when you reopen the factory. We need allies in this town, Yvonne, whether you like them or not. In regards to Penny, she must have a chaperone and you are the best person to accompany her. She is forbidden to leave this house unless you are by her side.”

Yvonne leant back, bolstered by her elbows. She was inconvenienced by the demand, the scowl settling as a permanent expression on her face.

“Penny is also mistress of the house,” she disputed, “she may go as she pleases.” Struck with a thought, she added- “I once dined with a Miss Donoghue in Dublin, did you know? She was beautiful but sullen, trivial. She was certainly no conversationalist; I am certain that this Miss Donoghue will be the same. I have no interest in socialites nor their lifestyle, and I would despise inquiring into the wellbeing of someone who is perfectly well so that Penny may have a friend. I have had Penny mention more than once our neighbour and if I were to hear her name mentioned one more time, it would be too soon. I have no interest in meeting Miss Donoghue.”

There was a knock at the door, the inquirer entering with permission. The footman stood at the entrance, clearing his throat. “Excuse me, Lady Davers, Miss Davers, but Miss Donoghue has arrived. She is accompanied by a Miss Ainsley.”

Lady Davers released a shrill laugh, incapable of repressing her amusement, the burst of emotion settling into a short cackle. Yvonne was less pleased, glowering at the footman.

“Inform them that I shall be down shortly.” She gestured at the baroness. “As you can see, I am attending to my mother.”

The door closed behind the footman, Lady Davers scoffing as it did, pulling the sheets closer to her chin. “You have no interest in being here. This is fate mocking you for your petulance.”

Yvonne wished she could dispute the needless claims, which is what she believed them to be, standing and scowling one last time at her mother. She knew she must see to her guest. Certainly, Penny would have admitted the two women and it would be viewed as a slight to refuse an audience now, knowing that her sister was already seated with them. Excusing herself, Yvonne exited the room, pardoning her presence from her mother, though not the doctor; she did not acknowledge him as she left. 

She wished that Penny had friends of her own, relieving Yvonne of the expectation and allowing her sister the freedom she desired. She thought it fair that Penny conducted house calls as she wished, as was becoming of her age, yet she doubted their mother would allow it. In the meantime, the girl was left with little in the way of entertainment other than her sister and the library. For a girl on the brink of womanhood, that was considered insufficient and Yvonne could not do much to ease the lonesome existence that surrounded her; she could hardly help herself. 

Withal, if Penny were to become friends with their neighbour, that might aid in her silence when it came to the subject of Miss Donoghue. The two may become too occupied with their friendship to involve her, and that pleased Yvonne greatly. Surely, the young woman was not so interesting as to hear of her at every turn, as she had done since returning home. Yvonne believed that an heiress raised in the Irish wilderness was bound to be dull and unrefined, trusting there was no commonality that could possibly be shared between them; she was better remaining with Penny and discounting Yvonne from whatever foolish whims took their fancy. 

Coming to the door, she could hear their voices within. One utterance could be heard above the others, excitable but eloquent, and Yvonne recognised it to be Penny’s, realisation dawning that the girl was talking about the southern riots. The thought vexed her; it was not a subject that she believed appropriate for her age, though Penny would contend that was not the case- she protested against the idea that she was acting the crusader, or worse, the martyr. In the last week, there had been another bout of rioting throughout several farms, and it was expected that there would be more in the weeks to come. Yvonne could understand her concern, aware that such disturbances may find their way to Bedford, and it would be an inconvenience that was not so easily settled with a stern word and a threat of dismissal. Penny knew that too; she was more intelligent than Yvonne would ever credit her for. 

Checking her watch, she pulled it from her pocket, noting the time. She hoped the visit was no more than an hour, the thought in itself grieving her. Exhaling slowly, Yvonne resolved her reverie, returning her watch to its usual place. She wished she had excused herself but the time had passed for excuses. With that thought, she clenched her jaw, pushing the door open and entering the room.


	15. Undoubtedly Winsome

Miss Ainsley was the first to rise, having seated herself opposite the door. She was elated to be the first visitor received by Miss Davers, curtseying with as much reverence as she could muster. 

“Miss Davers.”

“Miss Ainsley.”

Seated directly in front of the custodian was Miss Donoghue; to the side, Penny. The two women rose, alongside Miss Ainsley, though Yvonne did not heed them. Miss Donoghue was naturally facing the window and did not turn upon standing; Yvonne viewed her solely from behind. Consequently, she had no impression of the lady and, as she had no intention of observing her, she strode past, greeting the governess first. 

This dismissal was not entirely deliberate, as the custodian had already acknowledged her and Yvonne responded appropriately. Nevertheless, she hoped that her disinterest in Miss Donoghue was apparent and in receiving her in such a manner, the girl would be inclined to seek a friendship solely in the younger sister. 

Reaching out, she seized Miss Ainsley by the hand and shook it firmly. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.” 

A pinkish hue came to the custodian’s cheeks and she smiled widely, a faint titter escaping. “I hope it is not impertinent of us to visit so suddenly. You see, the last time we were here, your mother informed us that you were returning, although there was no confirmation for whether you had.”

“It was a late decision on my part, but I have elected to remain in Bedford for the time-being.” 

Miss Ainsley was delighted. She had resolved to establish a connection on behalf of her ward, who, she believed, urgently required an acquaintance within the area. It was a task that she had accepted as her sole duty until such a time that she deemed it accomplished. 

“Mister Ingham informed us yesterday,” she chattered, heartily. “We hardly dared believe it, but we thought we should call. Miss Donoghue, having made the acquaintance of your sister and mother, was most anxious that she meet you too.” 

Reminded of her delegate’s association with Colworth House, Yvonne was provoked in thinking she had encouraged a relation between them that was unintentional and, to an extent, undesired. She was aware of the consent that had been given from the lady, in regards to Ingham’s employment, though she did not deem it worth the irregularity of the visit. 

Glancing askance, she noticed that Penny was staring at her. The girl was smirking, though she bit her bottom lip, trying, in vain, to repress her amusement. Yvonne perceived it, nevertheless. Penny was pleased with the situation that they had found themselves in, though Yvonne was less satisfied with the outcome, wishing for the matter to be resolved and for the two young women to leave her be. If the intention of this visit was to establish a familiarity between the two estates, she would readily oblige. In turn, she hoped for their swift departure. 

Turning, her lips parted to utter some acknowledgement; left open, however, when she came to face her guest. Her genial smile wavered as she traced the delicate countenance of the lady before her, her words faltering. 

“I...” 

Abashed, she fell silent. Bonnie was perturbed by her reaction, craning her neck forward in an attempt to meet her eye, merely to conceive that Yvonne was studying the carpet which she stood upon. She earnestly awaited her reception, assured that Miss Davers would not dismiss her. Still, when nothing was said, she became restive, hemming lightly. The gesture startled Yvonne, who returned her gaze upward, the intensity of her stare causing Bonnie to knot her fingers together. 

Having sought the attention of Miss Davers, Bonnie was unsure of what to do, now that she had it, and she hesitated. Her bewilderment was matched by her hostess, who continued to stand in dumbfounded silence. This inaction caused Yvonne to consider that they were not so dissimilar as she originally thought. The tilt of her lips was genuine, perhaps for the first time since her arrival, and she released a breath of laughter, as if she found this trick of fate to be amusing. 

Bowing her head, she extended a gracious smile in the lady’s direction. “Miss Donoghue.”

The notion pleased Bonnie, who lowered into a prompt curtsey. 

“Miss Davers.” Her voice was low and lyrical, the enunciation familiar to the county of her upbringing. It was unusual for a gentlewoman to speak in such a manner, yet it did not cause her to appear unrefined, as previously thought, but merely enhanced the natural gentility that was borne within her. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“I think you will find that the pleasure is all mine.”

Bonnie gladly accepted her raised hand, simply to realise that she had removed her gloves upon entering the room. She felt the impropriety of the impulse, anxious that her first impression would be unfavourable. Nevertheless, Yvonne did not perceive her blunder, raising her other hand to encase Bonnie’s entirely, her thumb gently brushing against the back of her hand. Charmed, Bonnie supposed that her lack of decorum, on this occasion, was fortuitous, her delirium at such a reception rendering her mute.

Yvonne strove to compensate for her earlier insolence. “I have heard a great deal about you, Miss Donoghue. You have an admirer already in my sister. Forgive me for not having inquired into your wellbeing, knowing of the accident as I do. Let me redeem myself by asking how you are?” 

“I am very well, thank you,” she replied, earnestly. “I hope you are also well?”

With a tender smile, she merely breathed- “I am starting to be.”

Inadvertently, her gaze came to focus on her physique, tracing the loose curl of hair that brushed against her neck, the lavish contrast of her russet brown skin against the pastel blue dress that she wore, and the curve of her waist before it was hidden beneath a mass of skirts. Abashed, Yvonne returned her attention upwards, solely to realise that Bonnie was not watching her; her gaze was downcast in its own inspection. The lady realised that she was being observed, flustered to have been discovered, her gaze returning dutifully upward. 

To the side, Penny watched them, elated that they should meet after her insistence, and that Bonnie herself had encouraged the connection. She had known that she was accurate in her assumption, having predicted, on first meeting their neighbour, that they would hold an interest in each other, and she was satisfied to discover that she had been correct. As she watched, her sister appeared to realise her distraction, stepping away from Miss Donoghue and releasing her hand. Their silent amusement had persisted longer than was considered appropriate, and Yvonne turned so she was facing the two guests simultaneously, a pretentious smile appearing on her lips.

“I hope you were entertained by Penny’s account of the riots. I am sure her story was an enthralling one.”

The jest was undermined by Miss Ainsley’s assertion that she had been entertained, a comment that Penny was grateful for. “She has been most gracious, considering we must have disturbed her upon arrival. We are aware of the unusual nature of our visit, though we thought it imperative that we express our gratitude. Nevertheless, I must apologise for intruding upon you both.”

“You must not apologise, Miss Ainsley. We are delighted to receive Miss Donoghue and yourself.” 

Observing that Bonnie occupied the chesterfield, Yvonne joined her, motioning for the others to be seated. The three women complied, returning to their earlier positions, waiting, once settled, for the host to continue the conversation. Insensible to their anticipation, she watched Bonnie as she lowered herself onto the sofa. 

Her fervent scrutiny was not unnoticed by the young woman, who frequently shifted her gaze between her neighbour and the floor, flustered that, at every glance, Yvonne continued to watch her. She was not weary of such consideration; in truth, she savoured it, though, having visualised the circumstance in which she should meet Miss Davers, Bonnie was now overwhelmed with the reality of her situation. With an apprehensive smile, she hoped to convey her pleasure in being there, and was elated to discern, when the expression was reciprocated, that Yvonne held a similar sentiment. 

Heedless to the scene before her, Miss Ainsley drew them from their reverie by inquiring into the southern riots. Whilst anticipating the appearance of the eldest Miss Davers, Penny had seized the opportunity to voice her own assessment, though her esteem for discussing articles within the newspaper was not shared by her sister, and her fervid oration had been prematurely interrupted by her arrival. As to Yvonne, she considered the riots to be inconsequential, particularly when in the presence of Miss Donoghue. Undoubtedly, her visitor was of more interest, though she reluctantly removed her gaze from Bonnie, encouraged to speak when confronted with a genuine interest in her opinion. 

“The amendments that they are fighting for exclude my sex; they do not warrant women a place in their new laws,” she uttered. “I do not care to support such a cause if they fight solely for men. A man’s fight does not concern me.”

“I am astonished to hear that you have been neglected,” Miss Ainsley exclaimed. “It would be unseemly to discount your position. I am sure that you would be affected greatly as a landowner, especially with your agricultural trade.”

“The issue is that this reformation seeks to enhance the worker’s experience in factories and agricultural landscapes, while also allowing more freedom in house leasing. In theory, this sounds wonderful. However, it does not consider the notion that there are land and business owners who are women, and thus, it fails to allow for the same rights as her fellow man. This does not benefit me any more than before. My male workers will receive suffrage, however, in ways that I cannot, even as their landowner and employer. Does that seem just?

“If a collection of male workers decide that I have made an erroneous judgement in my profession, regardless of whether that is true, they may undermine me and are free to do so. I have always been fair in my ownership, more so than some of my competitors, yet I cannot vote in a union nor society in favour of my opinions or rights, because, as a woman, I am restricted from joining. Thus, the workers may have a right to a voice within the company that I, as the fairer sex, cannot give, even as its owner. The barring of women in unions and societies ensures that. For the common man, would this bill be just? Yes. Is it unjust for me? Indubitably.”

From the armchair, Penny scowled, unable to repress her contention. “The reason behind the new law is that it enfranchises working men, not the landed interest as it previously has.” 

Yvonne tutted. “And in doing so, it undermines me. Miss Donoghue, tell me, how many acres of land do you own and, with it, tenants?” In being addressed, Bonnie’s head whirled from one side to the other, staring speechlessly at her. She could hardly reply before Yvonne pressed on, using her dumbfounded silence to her advantage. “Precisely. Yet, your workers may take a vote that significantly impacts your income and trade. As a woman, you have no union nor society to back you as a male owner would, and with no right to vote in the matter, you cannot appeal the decision, not unless you take it to a court of law. A man can do so in his ownership. I cannot and neither can you, Miss Donoghue.”

“In Ireland, we are restricted not only by sex but by religion,” Bonnie remarked. “I suppose, in that sense, you are far luckier than I. We Donoghues originate from nobility and yet, my family may be barred from land, property, and trade, regardless of gender. If I were to contend the issue, it is not a matter for Dublin Castle but for Westminster_(4)_. I cannot speak to English reason, Miss Davers; I hardly think they have any at all.”

Yvonne raised her brows, astonished at this reproach, though she found it amusing. Before she could answer, Penny spoke across her. 

“The workers should have rights either way. If it disenfranchises female workers and landowners then the proposal must include amendments for them...”

“A little optimistic,” Yvonne interjected.

“And we must accept that the economy is no longer centred on land and agriculture, but the towns and their industrial trade.”

Bonnie had taken to watching Penny, her brow starting to furrow as she considered the discourse between the two sisters. In doing so, she did not notice the frequent glances that Yvonne directed to her. She believed, despite Bonnie’s silence, that she was not incapable of understanding, shown by her earlier remark; there was a shrewdness in the way she watched those around her. Yvonne wished to know what she thought of the situation, though she felt Penny’s claims were of more importance. Her reasoning concerned her, wishing to discover upon which basis she founded this information. 

Turning her attention to the girl, rather reluctantly, she demanded- “Where did you hear this? Who have you been talking to?”

“Nobody; it is common sense,” was the brash response. 

Yvonne scoffed, her gaze arching from one side to the other. Her lips parted to utter a reproach when the door opened and Lady Davers was wheeled into the room by her nurse, Doctor Kensley following in her wake. He had offered to be of assistance and steer the baroness himself, but the Lady insisted she did not trust him so far as to navigate her through the manor. Perceiving her entrance, the four women stood, Lady Davers gesturing for them to sit.

“I hope they have not exhausted your good humour,” she declared. “Heavens knows what the youth find interest in nowadays.”

As she passed, she responded to each greeting, a preference that she had not displayed the first time they had met. Bonnie was determined to express her gratitude once more, regarding herself in the family’s debt, and as the baroness was wheeled across the room, she stepped before her, curtseying. 

“My gratitude is immeasurable, my Lady,” she proclaimed, reverentially. “I may have suffered worse if you had not assisted.”

Lady Davers was pleased, gesturing for the nurse to place her beside Penny, the end of her cane jabbing in her general direction. She seemed to forget that it was her daughter that had responded with her assistance, not her. “Then I suppose you may be grateful.”

Doctor Kensley, determined to address the young woman, called to her by saying- “I hope you are feeling well, Miss Donoghue?”

Bonnie hummed an affirmation, her hands wringing together. She turned haughtily, so that she was unable to perceive him, and sat abruptly onto the sofa. Her distaste was equalled by her neighbour, who noted her discomfort, and wished for him to quit their company; his presence was no longer required. 

Across the room, Penny had remained standing, inquiring as to whether he wanted a glass of wine. He assented, the invitation provoking Yvonne, who, without removing her gaze from Bonnie, called out to him. 

“Doctor, my horse needs tending to; he is glandered. If you may be so kind, you will find him in the stables.”

The doctor peered at Penny, expecting that she would insist upon his presence, but she had fallen silent at the thought of Claudio, lowering herself quickly into her seat. When he did not proceed, Yvonne looked up at him, clicking her fingers. 

“Hurry now,” she urged, “I would like him seen to whilst he is still living.” She watched him leave, her neck craning to ensure he had disappeared before leaning closer to her guest, her voice lowering. “I find him rather odd and suspicious, do you not, Miss Donoghue?”

Entertained by her boldness, Bonnie repressed a giggle. “I do, Miss Davers. I believe his hospitality requires a little attention.”

“Hm, indeed.”

Miss Ainsley, delighted to see them favourable in each other’s esteem, hoped to maintain such a connection. She called out to Bonnie, incapable of lowering her voice in her excitement. “Miss Davers is known to keep a journal, my dear. She is quite renowned for it, so I would be certain to stay in her good favour if you wish to remain unmentioned.”

Bonnie’s humour dissolved, eyes widening in her consternation. She turned to her neighbour, uttering abruptly- “I hope I may never offend you.”

“Never,” Yvonne assured her. “I often write about what interests me, including those who I very much admire. You have nothing to fear.”

Bonnie was appeased, an air of satisfaction arising as she deliberated the adulation. Her triumph was interrupted by Lady Davers, who scoffed loudly. 

“I would not hope to be included, my dear. We remain unaware of its contents and the tedious notations it is likely to contain.”

Her censure caused a subsequent silence, though Bonnie refused to be discouraged. Miss Ainsley, however, was less content, troubled by the stillness that had ensued, and, in her attempt to restore the discussion, proceeded to inquire as to whether Penny also had a journal. 

“No, I do not,” was the short reply. 

Unperturbed, Miss Ainsley advanced onto the subject of her neighbours and their merits. Yvonne glanced aside, noting the way in which Bonnie peered in her direction, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards in her delight. She looked at Yvonne with an admiration that she was unaccustomed to, and it startled her, impelled to contemplate whether she may have a chance in Miss Donoghue, as Penny had so earnestly alluded to. The notion was foolish, she realised, and highly impertinent. She surmised that she was grieving, chiefly for what she had lost in Paris- this was merely a distraction. Nevertheless, she was enthralled by her new neighbour. Miss Donoghue was undoubtedly winsome, but what of the rest of her? Yvonne resolved to discover the answer.

Chapter Notations  
4\. Ireland was currently under English rule and although they had Dublin Castle (a government complex used for British administration), most decisions had to be forwarded to Westminster, particularly when it came to laws regarding Catholic Emancipation (the main issue that Bonnie is hinting at here). The majority of Ireland wasn't officially divided and freed from British rule until 1922, nearly 100 years after this is set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked my baby- this chapter alone has been three months in the making. It was a labour of love and tears...
> 
> So, this is the end of Volume I. I did this as a test run to see if anyone was interested in my work and I got way more interest than I ever hoped for, so I want to thank every single person who has interacted with my work one way or another; it means the world to me!
> 
> Volume II is already underway and will be the same length as this one- 15 chapters in all. However, as I have other things going on, including my studies (which is slowly killing me), I can't promise that it will be done quickly. All I can promise is that it is coming and as I'm happy with the outline, I will probably share it once it's done. That will probably be months from now though. 
> 
> In the meantime, if you are interested, I will think about sharing some snippets and sneak peeks on my Tumblr- guccibootyellow. Let me know if you would like that, so I can somewhat make up for the long wait in-between. 
> 
> Thank you again! Sorry for such a long message but I won't be back to this story for a while until Vol.II is definitely done, so until then, I love you all and I really hope you enjoyed the beginning of this awesome vintage lesbian journey that I have decided to spend all my free time on. I hope to see you soon! <3


	16. A Cruel Trick

Amidst the lining of the trees, the pistachio hue of the carriage was a charming contrast to the topiary that surrounded it, though it was not as striking, perhaps, as the woman who occupied it. Miss Donoghue had dashed a smile as she peered through the window, her happiness disappearing from view as they proceeded down the driveway. Upon reaching the lane, she raised her hand, a kindly response to the youngest Miss Davers. 

Penny had stood on her toes, her hand flicking back and forth, anxious for the lady to perceive her. Moments later, she observed a wave from the carriage window and lowered her arm, satisfied to have been acknowledged. A minute passed and her contentment faded, until eventually, she sighed. She reached across to take hold of her sister, her forehead lowering onto her arm. It was a sad state of affairs, she declared. Yet, when there was no response, she continued to say there was a dreadful pain in her heart, which could not be alleviated. 

“You may be suffering from indigestion,” Yvonne murmured, thoughtlessly. 

Penny did not think she was, clutching sullenly onto her arm. She returned her attention to the berlin, but it had retreated altogether. Distressed, she peered upward, determined to speak, though the sight of Yvonne caused her to reconsider- her sister was staring ahead and did not appear to notice that she was being watched. Heeding her distraction, Penny’s wretchedness was all but forgotten, the sentiment replaced with her usual vivacity. 

“I did say, did I not, that you would make a friend of Miss Donoghue?”

Yvonne continued to stare onto the driveway. “You say a great deal, though I am often inclined to disregard it. By chance, you may have been correct, but solely in this circumstance.” 

“I am correct, you say?” Penny straightened her posture, failing to reach the height of the eldest, yet pleased, in any case, that she had justified her reasoning. The arm that clung to her sister’s hung heavily in the crook of her inner elbow, unthinkingly drawing her closer. “Yes, I suppose I was.”

Spinning on her heel, Yvonne hurried towards the house, loosening her arm from her grip and calling behind her. “If you presume humbleness, I must say that you are unsuccessful.” 

Her departure was hindered by Doctor Kensley, who, having returned from the stables, requested her presence. He bowed lowly, his voice wavering in an unfortunate attempt to convey his condolences, a pitiful scene that was merely amplified by the stutter he was beginning to form. The reception unnerved Penny and she halted, despite her reluctance to hear the report. She wrung her fingers together, glancing anxiously between her sister and the doctor. 

“May I seek an audience with you, Miss Davers?” he appealed.

Yvonne could not refuse; the doctor had examined Claudio on her instruction. Glancing to Penny, she knew the girl was upset. The man was not subtle and it was clear, from his hesitant approach, that the news was damning. 

Wary, she attempted to pardon herself, though she was interrupted by Penny, who dashed up the stairs. Yvonne reached out to take hold of her but she veered to the side, narrowly missing her sister’s grasp. Hastening across the hall and through a rear door, she slipped out of sight. 

There was no indication as to where she went, despite knowing which door she passed through. Yvonne was unfamiliar with the places in which Penny preferred to occupy her time. In the past, the girl had hidden in the cabinets and wardrobes to avoid detection- at her current age, she was surely too large to do so. This lack of familiarity infuriated her, particularly when she was at fault, and she exhaled heavily. She supposed if she were to appeal to Penny’s whereabouts, one of the servants would search for her.

Agitated that she could not aid her in any way, Yvonne spun on her heel, her irritable gaze falling on the doctor. His hands fumbled together, his head twitching forward in a skittish attempt at a bow. 

“Ma’am, I examined the horse at your request.” Pausing, he stumbled into his findings when he saw her brow rise, fearful that she would be riled further by the report. “There is every possibility that he will live longer, but it would be cruel under the circumstances; he is in pain. It is with regret that I suggest you put him to sleep.” 

Inhaling slowly, she clasped her hands behind her back, her chin jutting outward as she stared down at the doctor. “Then I shall ensure he is seen to.”

Expressing her gratitude, she arranged for his departure by calling for his coat and hat, despite his attempt to convince her that he should remain there, a duty he felt in ensuring that Claudio was tended to. Discerning that he was no longer welcome, he produced one final endeavour to remain at the manor. 

“Miss Davers mentioned a glass of wine...”

“You shall receive your pay from Mrs Prescott,” she interjected. Turning from him, she headed towards the stables, calling over her shoulder- “She awaits you in the foyer.”

He was incapable of voicing another objection; she had abandoned him on the driveway. 

Marching across the perimeter of the Park, her pace quickened when the outbuilding came into view. Percy Denver awaited her at the entrance, having been instructed to remain there by the doctor. He trembled at the sight of her, further alarmed when she hollered to him from across the field, the vexation in her voice palpable.

“Denver, fetch my pistol!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He scrambled towards the estate, peering over his shoulder to inspect whether she was watching him. She was not; with him gone, she had turned her attention to the second stable boy, who lingered closely to the door. He desired to remain unseen, though his wish was not granted, and he was promptly instructed to retrieve Penny- if her sister wished to say farewell, she must attend to the horse without delay. 

The boy seemed uncertain of the task, conscious that it was a delicate matter, silently deliberating whether he was capable of alarming the youngest Miss Davers. Nevertheless, he was unwilling to refuse his mistress, notably whilst she was in the possession of a firearm, and, with that in mind, he headed in the same direction as Percy. 

Alone, she unclasped the chain of her pocket-watch, a scowl forming as she noted the hour, her thumb tapping impatiently against the frame. She returned the watch to its resting place, having inspected it to her satisfaction, and glanced around the empty field, discovering that the boys had not yet returned. Vexed, she entered the stables, apprehensive to see Claudio before he was brought outside. 

He was placed in the furthest stall; Yvonne observed the way he lay atop the thin layering of hay, the poultice spread meticulously across his neck and jaw. The areas underneath the moss-coloured bandage had swollen, an inflammation that had visibly worsened since the last time she had seen him. Anxious, she hesitated, her hand gripping the stable door. 

The sight of him provoked uncertainty and she felt incapable of taking him to the courtyard. She did not fear mortality, not when it came to necessity, nor was her reluctance induced by a particular attachment to the animal, though she did hesitate when she thought of Penny. God had played her a cruel trick- to have her sister return with an indefinite promise that she may stay, but thereby removing the one creature who had shown her any kindness in her sister’s absence. The irony was not hidden from her, though she did resent it. 

From the aisle, there was an accumulation of frantic rustling and the panting of breath, and she withdrew from the stall, observing Percy as he dashed towards her, pistol in hand. Yvonne winced at the sight of him.

“Walk, boy!” she bellowed. Holding out her arm, her voice lowered as she added: “I will not have you injuring either of us. The fault would be entirely yours.” 

He hastened to correct himself, his pace slowing to a walk.

“Yes, ma’am,” he wheezed, passing her the flintlock.

She clicked her fingers, gesturing at Claudio. “Bring him to the yard.” 

Without delay, Percy took the reins, praying that the horse would not resist them; he had been irritable since his jaw had swollen. He was relieved to note the appearance of his associate, who passed through the courtyard, assured that his presence would direct Yvonne’s attention away from him. The boy, however, was subdued as he approached them, his crimson cheeks revealing his shame. It was clear that he had failed to fulfil his task, his hesitant steps serving to aggravate her. 

“Well?” she demanded.

“Excuse me, Miss Davers, but Miss Penny will not come. She says she came to see him this morning, as well as six nights past. She is rather gloomy and says she will not come after he is gone either.”

Yvonne ground her teeth. “Where is she?”

“In the kitchens, ma’am. With Mrs Prescott and Miss Yacine.” 

She did not think to correct him, having pronounced Paulette’s surname incorrectly, gesturing for him to return to the stables with the muzzle of her pistol. He did so, leaving Percy with her. The boy gripped the reins tightly, as if he thought she were going to shoot him too. Despite his apprehension, she did not think to assure him, her consideration fixated solely on the horse. 

Yvonne approached Claudio, reaching out toward him in the hope that he responded, and he moved his nose upward, nudging it against her palm. She raised her hand, her fingertips grazing the bridge of his nose. He was placated by the contact, his head lowering but she reached for the groove of his chin, prompting his gaze higher. Staring into his darkened iris, she exhaled lightly, lowering her head so that the tip of her nose touched his. The motion caused her to smile, a faint chuckle escaping. Then she stepped back, the smile fading. 

“Good boy,” she whispered. 

Stepping away, she let her hand fall, her fingers brushing reluctantly against his ebony coat. She took three steps backward and raised her arm, the pistol hovering in the air. Yvonne watched him for a moment, a pause that caused Percy to quiver in fear. To him, it appeared that the delay was due to an uncertainty in aim, and he was desperate to not be caught in the firing line. He shuffled to the side, his fingers still gripping onto the reins, though he had created a reasonable distance between them. Grimacing, he turned his head from the horse, unable to view the execution in its entirety. 

Clenching her hand, Yvonne’s forefinger held its position on the trigger. She steadied her aim, inhaling slowly as she sought to suppress the tremor that had arisen. Lowering her head, she hardened her reserve, her lips parting as she silently counted to three. On three, she looked upward, releasing her hold on the trigger, the reverberation causing her to flinch, though the impact of Claudio as he struck the ground had a similar effect. 

Her chest heaved, a sound that was entirely audible in the silent courtyard. She glanced up to discover that Percy was staring at her, his dismay visible. The despondence in his gaze was mistaken as judgement and she lowered her arm, the pistol weighing heavily in her grasp. Uncertain, she contemplated whether she should console the boy, though she had nothing to say. She gestured for him to take the flintlock, which he did, hasty in his aptitude to please her. 

Thereon, she instructed him to dispose of the carcass, reluctant to view the horse in his current state. In having hurt Claudio, she apprehended that she had wounded Penny too. Yet, she felt that her sister’s disappointment was inevitable. Yvonne could not do right by her.

Ø

Within the servants’ hall, Penny sat along the wooden bench, one hand in Mrs Prescott’s and the other in Paulette’s. Her hand gripped theirs tightly as she heard the pistol sound, her body starting. It gave way to a tremble that caused her whole frame to shudder, and she bit her bottom lip, repressing a sob. Nevertheless, she could not restrain herself the second time. She rested her head against Mrs Prescott’s shoulder, the housekeeper not caring to mention the patch of tears that had been left on her linen blouse. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a handkerchief and passed it to her.

Upstairs, Lady Davers was apathetic to the noise, the magnifying glass in her hand trembling as she struggled to maintain its upright position. She blamed her discomfort on Penny, who had disappeared and had not yet returned. As a result, the baroness was forced to undertake her usual reading of the newspaper alone and with great difficulty. The nurse had offered to read for her, but Lady Davers had requested that she be left alone in her room; she did not believe the woman could read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaacckkk! I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me...
> 
> So, this took a lot longer than I thought. Turns out I had way less time to write than expected whilst studying so this had to be pushed to the back-burner. Obviously, once I was done, it got written way quicker. All I can say is thank you to anyone who is still around; it’s been just over a year since I published the last volume. 
> 
> I hope this volume is as enjoyable as the first. This truly was a labour of love and was many months in the making. Let’s just hope the next one won’t take as long! From here on out, I should have some free time to keep writing, which means the next volume should be published way quicker, so here’s to my slow writing that equals this slow-burner fic. 
> 
> Vol. 2 is simply the ‘talking stage’. Lots of talking and not much action, I’m afraid, but the other volumes will have more going on, I promise. 
> 
> Also, I have made several edits here and there to Vol. 1 (not very noticeable), but I also rewrote a considerable chunk of chapter 15 because it wasn’t my best writing and there were also some historical inaccuracies. From now on, I will be using some footnotes to explain things that may not seem entirely obvious or general knowledge, as I have made references to certain things and I’m not 100% sure everyone will get them. This won’t be on every chapter, but it does start on 15 and carry on through Vol.2, here and there. Just so you know. 
> 
> Chapters will be posted twice a week- Wednesday and Sunday; there will be 16 in all. Happy reading, and I hope it was somewhat worth the wait! 
> 
> P.S. Happy St. Patrick's Day! From myself, Miss Bonnie Donoghue, and all my Irish fam! We will be doing nothing for the day, other than getting wankered. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers xoxo


	17. A Private Audience

The path between Colworth House and Haynes Park was protracted further than necessary- its direction proceeded towards town before its route diverted to either estate. This inconvenience was due to the highland in which the two were built, and if one were to cross betwixt the two directly, they would have to mount the sizable hill situated between them. Thus far, it was untouched by man; a path was yet to be erected due to the rugged landscape. This did not perturb Yvonne, however, as she ascended it. 

Short bursts of air passed through her lips as she marched steadily onward. To aid her ascension, she plunged her cane into the uncut grass and hauled herself further upward, the cane’s black surface glistening in the sunlight, the air practically whistling as it hastened through the breeze. The sound accompanied the fluttering motion of her frock coat as it billowed behind her. Albeit, she did not notice; her consideration was directed solely on where she was headed. 

Yvonne had not called upon the tenants of Colworth House for almost a decade, having established the Chesterfields as irritable and decrepit. In return, their neighbours had been displeased with Penny’s teasing remarks regarding their surname and the similarly titled furniture and the two sisters were thenceforth refused to tea. Penny could not abide being disliked and was wounded by the exclusion, particularly when other girls her age had continued to visit. Yvonne, on the other hand, disliked the couple and was happy to remove them from their calling list; she thought them rather crass. With Mr Chesterfield long buried, Mrs Chesterfield had departed for Cheshire to reside with her married daughter. Though Penny had forgone her ridicule for their family name, she had savoured the ditty that she wrote for the Chesterfields who resided in Cheshire, and, to humour her sister, she had slipped the paper into her journal where it continued to abide and was often read when they required levity. 

The recollection was abandoned, however, when the House came into view, its modest design handsomely compensated for by the magnitude of the estate. Yvonne’s pace quickened, unaware of her own vitality, and she hurried across the driveway with great urgency. It appeared that Miss Donoghue had implemented a charming array of blossoms and shrubbery to distract from the dull grey stone of the building, an enterprise that Yvonne applauded her for. She thought the House was uncommonly pleasing to the eye, its owner serving to increase its allure. 

Ascending the steps, she reached for the metal chain and tugged it downward, panting as she attempted to recover from her brisk walk. Awaiting her admission, she turned to view the garden, raising her cane to tip the brim of her hat upward. 

During the walk, Yvonne had speculated on the nature of Miss Donoghue and the rapport they may have. She had concluded that their friendship was inevitable, and in earnest, but she was inclined to question whether their association would lead to a familiarity that she longed for. In her fervour, she wished to discover whether she was correct in assuming a fondness between them, yet she chastised herself for being so easily affected. She had presumed her earlier experiences would have warned her against such intemperate gaiety, and still, she conceived that she was unwilling to learn her lesson. 

The door opened to reveal the footman, who inquired into her arrival. 

“Miss Davers of Haynes Park, here to see Miss Donoghue. Is she home?”

Unwittingly, she smiled at the servant, a motion that he grasped was not for him. He admitted her, and, upon entry, instructed that she remain in the hall whilst he sought the mistress of the house. She watched him leave, her finger tapping excitedly against the handle of her cane. 

Unattended, she admired the adornments that surrounded her, rotating in a circular motion so that she may view the hall in its entirety. Adjustments had been implemented since her last visit and she considered the decoration to be tasteful. Along the hallway, bouquets had been lined; chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, their glass moulded into the shape of a teardrop, and, alongside the staircase, there was an assortment of paintings that had been acquired from the Donoghue manor. The paintings were unlike the workmanship that she was used to- the collection consisted of desolate moorland, spacious lakes, and a tower-house that resembled the composition of a late Middle-Aged castle. Inspecting the paintings, she perceived that the collection was of Miss Donoghue’s homeland, leaning closer to examine the previous residence of her neighbour. 

Her gaze traced the outline of the castle, enthralled by its construction. She had not expected Miss Donoghue to have hailed from such a prestigious stronghold, apprehending that she may have been mistaken in discounting the Irish wilderness. Contrite, she acknowledged that her appraisal of the Donoghues had been in haste. She did not wish to be intrusive, as she felt she had been, and so, she returned to the forepart of the hall, removing her top hat as she did and tucking it under her arm. 

As she passed through the foyer, she espied a mirror, veering towards it. Yvonne was mindful that the journey may have altered her appearance. Pleased, she discerned that it had not. A strand of hair had tumbled across her forehead but she brushed it back, absentmindedly. 

Yvonne was satisfied that her presentation could not be faulted, a verity that was often true, though she felt that, on this occasion, it was more accurate than usual. It was crucial that her stature, in society and trade, was resembled in her attire, a duty that had she bestowed upon herself and one which, she believed, was critical to convey, even when calling upon neighbours.

“Ma’am.”

Yvonne peered over her shoulder, observing the footman as he bowed. His genuflection revealed that she had been granted admission, and she followed him, quite haughtily, as he proceeded down the hallway.

Ø

Within the drawing room, Bonnie flitted from one side to the other, indecisive as to how she should present herself. She elected to rearrange her embroidery- it had been abandoned upon hearing she had a visitor- positioning the hoop so that it looked untouched yet orderly, and pulling the vase on the nearest table further forward. Though it hardly made a difference, she imagined that it looked more charming. Passing the divan, she plumped the cushions, arranging them neatly before standing in the centre of the room, chest heaving as she recovered from her frantic tidying. She did not consider that the drawing room was neat beforehand, content with the trivial alterations that she had made to its arrangement.

“Oh...”

Her eyes widened and she seated herself on the divan, her head turning from one side to the other. Snatching a nearby book, she opened it aimlessly, perusing its contents with a cursory glance. A moment later, Yvonne entered the room and Bonnie stood. Closing the book, she placed it on the nearest table. 

“Miss Davers, what a wonderful surprise.”

“Miss Donoghue.” Yvonne smiled, several seconds passing before she realised she had yet to explain the reason behind her visit. She added: “I was passing by and thought that I should call upon you, especially as you were so kind to call upon my family and I. Forgive me; I hope I am not intruding.”

“You could never intrude, Miss Davers,” Bonnie swiftly assured her. “Both yourself and Miss Penny are welcome to visit any time you like. I shall be happy to receive you.” 

They fell into reticence, though they continued to smile at one another. Their inaction was disturbed by the footman, who inquired as to whether he may take Yvonne’s coat and hat. She passed him both, inadvertently flinging her coat in his direction as she rushed to have a private audience with Miss Donoghue. Excusing himself, he bowed in his mistress’s direction. 

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Adam.”

Bonnie returned her attention to Miss Davers, whose gaze had not diverted from her. They watched each other a while longer, Bonnie coughing lightly in the hope that she could impede upon the silence. 

She gestured towards the divan. “Miss Davers, please... Sit.”

Yvonne stepped towards the settee, examining the room as she did. The sight of the drawing room caused her to laugh abruptly and she peered over her shoulder at Bonnie, who was startled by her sudden guffaw. 

“I have not visited this house in years,” she clarified, attentive to her blunder. “I never took to calling upon the last tenants and they never invited me. They were rather irritable and they did not like that I was better than them at bridge and piquet. When I last won, they told my father that I was a gambler. They owed me some money and were rather reluctant to pay it back; my father said it was fair game but my mother was less happy with my conduct...” Lingering, she recalled the account with immense pleasure, though it was not due to the elderly couple but, rather, the absurd recollection that she had of them. Yet, she was unwilling to discuss them any further, intent on discussing a topic that she considered to be of more interest. Yvonne turned to Bonnie, gesturing toward her. “The name Donoghue is familiar. I visited Dublin, but that was the extent of my travels there. May I assume that is where you lived?”

“The only time I resided in Dublin was when I was studying; I went to school there.” Sanguine, Bonnie was determined to encroach a subject that she had meditated ardently upon for the past six years. Her expectation was so severe that she took to staring at her hands, hastening to disclose their potential acquaintance. “My cousins also studied there, Sarah and Louisa. It was Louisa who attended the dinner at Diana’s. You remember Diana? Hartford? Well, you were invited too; Louisa told me she had conversed with you. She told me of your travels and how oft you occupied yourself with science, philosophy, art, and the overall pursuit of knowledge. I thought it was unfortunate that we missed each other, as I was not yet of age to attend, but I would have been agreeable to meeting you, if my cousin had been so obliging. She was not and I missed any chance of speaking with you whilst you were in Dublin. I suppose it is of little consequence now.” She paused, though the reticence disturbed her, so she concluded with: “How lucky that you, of all people, Miss Davers, are now my neighbour! You would not believe it...”

She stumbled into silence, her cheeks pinkening. The sight of Yvonne dissolved any remnants of courage, and she took to focusing once more on her hands. Bonnie was grateful to express her sentiment on the matter, but the discussion had so long been formed in her mind that, now she was confronted with it, she was overcome with nerves. She wished that she had remained silent. 

Yvonne spoke across. “I was in Dublin four days after that encounter. You should have come to see me. I would have been pleased to meet you.”

“You did not know me,” she contended. “I did not wish to disturb you or cause you any bother.”

Yvonne smiled, a tenderness to her gaze. “You could never have bothered me.”

Bonnie lowered onto the divan, though it was not a voluntary action. Nevertheless, she was determined to continue. 

“When Louisa spoke of your travels and all your recollections of Europe, it touched me. I had never been anywhere, you see; nowhere further than Dublin. Now I am here, this is the furthest I have ever been. To hear of these places, despite their only being tales, it brought me great happiness. I had never known anyone as courageous as you and I wish that I could be half of what you are. You inspire me.” She paused, anxious that she had been brazen in her admission. “I hope that is not impertinent of me to say.”

“It is not,” Yvonne replied, pleased to receive such an accolade. Approaching the sofa, she requested as to whether she may sit and, on receiving permission, complied, her gaze unfaltering on her hostess. “I have been all across Europe, Miss Donoghue, and I have never done as you have. I could not choose to live elsewhere, in a town where nobody knows me. No matter where I have been, it has been with friends and with those who are familiar to me. I have never lived anywhere other than my family home, but you are here. And you are more courageous than you will credit yourself for.”

Bonnie giggled. Assured, she said- “I suppose we can be courageous in our own way.” 

Yvonne smiled, leaning toward her. “If you have been told all there is to know about me, then you must return the favour. I am inspired to hear all you have to say.”

“But I have not heard all there is to know,” she refuted. Bonnie was reluctant to speak of her experiences when she considered them inferior to the woman beside her. “You may tell me all you wish to; I will gladly listen. There is nothing you can say that will bore me.”

“I wish to hear from you first.”

“Where shall I start?”

Yvonne contemplated her question, reminded of the paintings that she had viewed in the hallway. “If you are not from Dublin, where is the Donoghue castle situated?”

“Why, I am from the county Kerry!” Bonnie exclaimed. “It is located in the south of Ireland- the opposite direction to Dublin. I grew up not far from Killarney. Quite close, in fact.”

Upon heeding this insight, Yvonne was uncertain as to where the town was. She supposed she may find it on the atlas if she were to search for it later, though she did not want to admit as much to Miss Donoghue for fear of offense. 

To compensate, she asked her: “Will you tell me more of your homeland?”

“Yes, I would be delighted!” she beamed. “The castle itself was first established in fifteen seventy-two...”

Bonnie spoke hurriedly, her hands gesturing wildly as she ventured to describe the construction of her previous residence. Silent, Yvonne watched her, intaking the information with the utmost gravity. She was loath to miss any word that was spoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, it's finally happening!! They're finally getting some scenes together.


	18. Reciprocal Contentment

Bonnie fell silent. In her determination to share all she must with Miss Davers, she had chanced upon a topic which she had come to regret. It was not a subject that she oft discussed, not since her parents’ passing, and in alluding to her misery, Bonnie feared she had discouraged her neighbour in speaking to her. Having conversed briefly on the death of her younger brother, she came to wish, upon completion, that she had turned the conversation elsewhere. The topic was not suitable for polite society, particularly when one did not know the other. 

“I must apologise, Miss Davers,” she uttered, repentantly. “I did not intend to be so dour.”

Her gaze lowered to her lap, her fingers gripping tightly onto the fabric of her skirt. There was a moment of reticence, where she was assured that she had offended her guest, but then Miss Davers spoke, her tone commiserative. 

“You must not apologise, Miss Donoghue,” Yvonne insisted. “I am sorry to hear of your misfortune. I am sure you miss him terribly.”

Bonnie raised her gaze, grateful to be shown such kindness. “I do. I think of them often- my parents and Ainmire alike. They are always with me; I can sense it.”

Following the disclosure, she was despondent and she chastised herself, for she knew that the topic upset her, yet she had broached it anyhow. Nevertheless, she was charmed that her neighbour had endeavoured to console her. In return, Bonnie wished to please her as well as she could. Three hours had passed since Miss Davers had been admitted into Colworth House and, reluctant to finish the discussion, Bonnie surmised that a walk would be sufficient in detaining the woman further.

“Would you join me in the garden?” she asked. “If you were to cross the gate at the far end, the Great Ouse lies beyond.”

Confronted with such expectation, Yvonne could not deny her. “You like being near the water, I see.”

“Yes,” she uttered. “It calms me.”

Yvonne rose to her feet. “Then we must go at once.”

Bonnie was startled by her enthusiasm. She was certain that, on perceiving her low spirits, Miss Davers would have preferred to return home. Yet, despite her reservations, she discovered that her guest accompanied her, quite happily, into the gardens. Yvonne had started to walk with her usual swiftness, a stride that soon lessened when she realised that her companion was no longer beside her, a refusal, on her part, to walk any faster than at a leisurely pace. Bonnie was content to saunter through the garden, unhurried in reaching the river. She had no intention of returning to the manor until they had tired themselves into exhaustion, a sentiment which amused her for she was certain that she could never tire of Miss Davers.

With her hands clasped behind her back, Yvonne exerted her efforts into keeping in pace with Miss Donoghue, although she could not abide having to stroll; lethargy made her restless. She turned her attention elsewhere, determined to please Bonnie as well as she could. 

“May I inquire into the whereabouts of Miss Ainsley?” Yvonne had expected to be greeted by the governess; her absence was notable. Still, she believed the occurrence to be fortuitous. Her visit had remained undisturbed, allowing them to speak as they pleased, which suited her, for she aimed to speak solely with her neighbour, not her chaperone. “I would have thought that she was here. I did not think she had any acquaintances or relatives in the area.”

Bonnie’s countenance revealed that she was delighted with the absence. “No, she does not. My company must have tired her. She is now teaching at the local school for girls. It is only for three days a week, but she is satisfied with the arrangement. Miss Ainsley is always content when she has some occupation to attend to.” She paused to laugh. “I think she has abandoned any hope with me. My French is better than hers and she thinks Italian too romantic. Her time is better spent with girls who know little French; she finds them more pleasing. Besides, she has no new books to read and she will not read mine. She thinks me frivolous.”

“Being of a higher acumen is not a trait that you must apologise for. She should be pleased that you are well-educated; surely, it reflects highly on her too.” Pausing, she winced, as if the thought of attending school had greatly disturbed her. “But all those children? My, I believe they are of no use to me.”

“I am actually very fond of children,” Bonnie sighed, wistfully. “I have thought a good deal on becoming a mother, but I have come to accept that it shall never happen.”

“And why is that?”

“I shall never be married. If I am not to marry, I cannot have children. It would bring me great happiness but it will never happen, not as I wish.”

It was not a topic that Yvonne wished to discuss. Her opinion on marriage was a low one, as was all matters that involved men. In her experience, she had discovered that all young women, at some time or another, thought upon marriage and wished for it. Miss Donoghue presumed herself different, the reason behind it unclear, but it was an illusion that, Yvonne believed, was often borne with youth. The natural course of a woman was to marry and, inevitably, have children. A woman of Miss Donoghue’s calibre, of her wealth and status, and- if she may be so bold- her beauty, would have no difficulty in obtaining a husband. Yvonne believed that every woman aimed to be a wife, despite their varying reasons; she had yet to be proven otherwise. A conventional view for someone such as herself, yet she believed that her situation was different only by nature, and it was not a nature afforded to every woman.

“You shall think differently.” She refused to acknowledge the aching sensation that had arisen in her chest, staring at the trimmed lawn, rather than the gentlewoman beside her. “All young women do after a time. They always say they will not marry and they do. Then you shall have your wish and with it, all the children you desire.”

Bonnie was adamant that she was correct. 

“No,” she reiterated, “I shall never marry a man; it is inconceivable.” A thought struck her. “Do you not want a child?”

“It is not an option that has been afforded to me, so I have never contemplated it in its entirety. Of all I have left to accomplish in my life, I have never cared to have a child. They are often boisterous and filthy; they want caring for until they are adults and I do not have the time nor want to care for them.” Pausing, she recollected a moment from her past that she hurried to disclose, assuming it to be of interest to Bonnie. “I have, in the past, dissected a baby.”

“Alive?” she exclaimed.

“Well... No. I would not have done so if the thing was alive.”

Abashed, she fell silent. Yvonne had forgotten, in her delight to be with Miss Donoghue, that her interests were considered unorthodox. She conceived, on reflection, that she should have followed the discussion as it was, despite its tedious nature, for it was more pleasing. Not for her, necessarily, but for those who conversed with her. 

“How were you granted permission?” Bonnie questioned, her tone genuinely curious. “Procedures such as that are difficult to arrange.”

“I have always held an interest in Georges Cuvier.” Yvonne hesitated, peering across at her neighbour. She did not wish to pursue the topic if it was undesirous to Bonnie, but there was an assurance in the lady’s gaze that emboldened Yvonne, prompting her to continue. “Whilst I was in Paris, I discovered that Monsieur Cuvier was currently employed at the university. I sent him a letter expressing my interest in his work and, as I was refused admission to his lectures, he came to my apartment for private instruction. I was grateful for his kindness; I would not have gained the experience otherwise. You see, I have always found the human body and brain to be fascinating, do you not think so, Miss Donoghue?” 

“Yes, I do,” Bonnie concurred. “My parents encouraged my want to learn, even when it came to human anatomy, but there was little to read on the subject whilst I was at home. When I arrived at Dublin, such literature was discouraged and my friends agreed that it was better left to someone who had the chance of pursuing a career in natural science, an option that was not gifted to me. I used to visit the library and note the books that I found to be of interest. From there, I would pass the notes to a friend of mine who would take them for me; he did me a great favour. My parents were thrilled with my knowledge, but Miss Ainsley thought the ordeal to be rather vulgar. Now that my parents are gone, I find that I have nobody who shares my interests.” 

Her avidity was unexpected, especially to the degree that Yvonne, herself, regarded the subject. “I am pleased to hear of your devotion, Miss Donoghue, in educating yourself, particularly in such fields as anatomy and physiology. I would not have imagined it to be the case.”

“I am equally pleased, Miss Davers. I have struggled to meet anybody who felt similarly.”

“As have I. The sole time that I felt my passion was, in any way, encouraged was whilst I studied in Europe. I took to anatomy there; they have less inhibitions than we do. They held many lectures on the subject. Men and women, there were examinations for both, although, I must confess, I preferred the study of female anatomy.” 

It did not occur to Bonnie to censure the discussion, too delighted by its initiation to prohibit the subject further. “If you are well versed on the subject of female anatomy, why, you could show me what you learnt.” 

Yvonne did not reply, staring fixedly ahead; nonetheless, the reddening in her cheeks revealed her humility. There was an impishness to Miss Donoghue that disconcerted her, and, try as she might, she was unable to respond to her in a way that was suitable and so, she said nothing at all. 

Bonnie realised her discomfort, continuing with: “The brain is the most vital organ of the body, the most significant, and yet, it is often underappreciated. By those outside of scientific practice, at least. It is the centre and chieftain of all human existence. Does that not demand a little attention?” 

“Have you ever seen one?” Yvonne questioned, appeased by the turn in conversation. The topic of natural science disturbed her less than the subject of sentiment. 

“Unfortunately, no,” sighed Bonnie. “All that was afforded to me were diagrams.”

Conceited to have the chance of impressing her neighbour, Yvonne drew back her shoulders, her chin rising in the air with a motion of pompousness. “I had the opportunity to examine a brain first-hand. I attended a lobotomy- for the pursuit of knowledge, naturally- and I was startled to see its truest form. It was nothing more than some offal, some meat-like substance, similar to the rest of the human body. I was not under the impression that it was much different, but to see it for myself, it was astounding. It was nothing above the ordinary and yet, it is responsible for every experience we have. It accounts for all of our senses, our thoughts, and feelings...” She paused in her breathlessness, discerning that she must allow her companion to speak too. “Tell me, Miss Donoghue, what do you feel right now?”

“Happy,” she stated. “To be here with you.”

“Yes...” Yvonne blinked, hemming to rid herself of the uncertainty that arose within her. “Well, that is your brain and in its sophistication, it can encapsulate your feelings and transform it into a thought, which is then relayed into speech. We make music of it, languages, a poetry prose in which these feelings are expressed. We create meaning in the nature around us because of it. We understand it through the analysis endured by the brain itself, and subsequently, we think and feel. We live.”

“And love.” 

Bonnie stared up at her, marvelling at her speech. 

Yvonne smiled in return. “Indeed.”

Inspired, Bonnie added- “How lucky that in this moment, in this brief second of our complicated lives, we are here and we are together, talking as if we were old friends.”

She halted, causing Yvonne to do the same. Despite hoping to involve Bonnie in the discussion, Yvonne was conscious that she had dominated the conversation, too enthused by the subject to finish. The notion that her companion was as passionate as her had fuelled her ramblings, yet Bonnie was unperturbed by her conduct. It seemed that they understood each other. She was staring at Yvonne with reciprocal contentment, a partiality that surprised her. Bashful, Yvonne uttered: 

“I would not trade this second for any other.”


	19. Most Welcome

As the afternoon advanced, the wind increased, causing the river to tumble rapidly, its current surging more ferociously than usual. The two women arrived in high spirits, although they were unmatched against the gust of wind that met them at the embankment. 

Bonnie shivered, her hand rising to tug at the Prussian blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Releasing her hold, the shawl slipped, but she was delayed in capturing it; the material was caught in the breeze. It fluttered across the grass, her exclamation causing Yvonne to turn from her view of the river. Bonnie stepped forward, hesitant to chase after it, but her indecision was soon answered by Miss Davers, who dashed past, her long limbs enabling her to sprint steadily across the levee. Her trousers were also to her benefit; Bonnie’s skirts were too voluminous for her to manoeuvre effectively. 

Inclining swiftly downward, Yvonne seized the fabric, sighing lowly as she caught it in her grasp. The shawl had drifted perilously close to the water. Ceremoniously, she returned it to its owner, laying the muslin across her shoulders and wrapping it securely at the front so that it could not unravel, even in high wind. Bonnie was exceedingly gratified, her cheeks pinkening. With the retrieval of her shawl, she suggested that they return to the manor, to which her neighbour readily assented. It appeared that the weather was only to worsen as the day progressed. 

Neither admitted their disappointment as they departed, but, for Miss Donoghue at least, the impression of her returned shawl was so formed in her mind that she could not be truly discontent. Bonnie expressed her gratitude for the chivalrous deed, although she thought it pertinent to mention another circumstance in which she felt indebted. 

“I was exceedingly grateful, Miss Davers, that you prevented Doctor Kensley from speaking to me. I could not have dealt with him as effortlessly as you did, although you may own a familiarity with him that I may not. Doctor Kensley is not a favourite of mine, but I fear I may be a favourite of his. You must believe me when I say how much I appreciated you requesting his absence.” 

Yvonne held her own dislike for the doctor, but she had been irked to see that his presence unnerved Bonnie, surmising the reason behind it. “It was clear to me that you were uncomfortable and, as my guest, I could not allow you to be placed in such a difficult position. It would be wretched of me to have you any less than happy.”

“When I saw him last, he was unforgivingly impertinent and presumptuous. We were obliged to Miss Penny for recommending him, as we did not know a doctor in the area, but Miss Ainsley certainly took to his airs more than I. He lacked manners and it was easy to ascertain, in one visit, that he was ready to give an opinion on matters that he knew nothing of. Miss Ainsley was his equal in instigation, but, as a man of great education, he should have known better. He did not, however, and I am hesitant to have him examine me in the future. His recommendations were of no use to me and were as brazen as he was. I fear he has an impression of me that does not fit my character, though it will suit Miss Ainsley to have him think of me as harshly as she does.”

The account did not take Yvonne unawares; she was acquainted with the faults of the doctor. Nevertheless, her sense of justice and decorum had been disturbed and she wished, in whatever way, for it to be righted. The slight was not felt on her part but on her neighbour’s. 

“He has a wandering eye, I am assured of that much. He often looks upon women when he should not.” She scowled, reminded of her past encounters with the doctor. “I once had a friend that he was much taken with. She handled it rather well, but I could not forgive him. Augusta was dear to me and I was very much provoked on her behalf, although she often said I should practice the virtue of temperance. Now that Penny is becoming a woman, he is much in her favour, having served our family for some years. I prefer to observe his consultations when he is with her. Certainly, his manner is that of a blackguard, but I also believe him to be incompetent. I am indignant that a similar misfortune has befallen you; you, who has recently come to this neighbourhood and deserves respect.”

Bonnie, though grateful, had heard little past the opening statement. She peered across, inclined to question if she could condemn a man for a fault that she owned to. Yet, she would contend that it was injurious solely when acted upon by a man, an acquittal that occurred to her as her gaze, with great deference, traced the figure of Miss Davers. Bonnie was certain that her neighbour held her own transgressions. Nevertheless, she did not believe that Miss Davers owned many faults. If she were to have taken Bonnie’s wrist in the same manner as the doctor, Bonnie would not have blamed her and would have allowed her to act as she pleased. 

Yvonne, ignorant to her companion’s distraction, had continued to talk. “If you were in need of a doctor in the future, I would call for Doctor Lamar.”

Startled from her reverie, Bonnie shook her head. “Oh no, I could not! Miss Ainsley would not understand it and I could not bear another useless quarrel. She is already so fond of Doctor Kensley.”

“You are your own woman, Miss Donoghue,” she contended, unable to comprehend the difficulty in such an arrangement. “You may do as you please.”

“In the world of someone else, perhaps, but I am here and I am not at leisure to do as I please.” Bonnie responded sharply, crossly almost, but she regained her composure. She was ashamed to lose her temper, particularly when she was once more indebted for the support of the Davers family, and her voice lowered considerably. “I must do what is right and expected.”

“At the expense of your own happiness?” 

“My happiness does not matter,” she admitted. “I have been constrained since the loss of my parents. By obligation or otherwise. When I resided at my family home, I was placed into a role that I was not suited for. I would take to the lakes, simply to escape, but it made little difference. The moors were an open plain for adventure, or so I once believed. Alone, I felt they were desolate and so was I, far from any being who could possibly understand me. With no amusement, there was nobody in Ireland worth staying for; I could not abide living with my cousins. I came here in an attempt to change my situation and, despite Miss Ainsley’s efforts to immerse me into society, I still feel as if I am far removed from everyone around me.”

She had little time to be regretful, as she had been earlier; Bonnie was too affected. With a furrowed brow, Yvonne glanced down, her comprehension somewhat increasing. Bonnie’s frustration was understandable, or so she felt, but Yvonne was unable to grasp why the situation was as calamitous as her neighbour believed it to be. She had experienced her own dissatisfaction with the world in which she was confined, but she had resolved to escape and she failed to understand why Miss Donoghue could not do the same. 

“You are a grown woman, Miss Donoghue, as young as you are. You have the ability to influence your life to a greater degree than you believe possible, no matter how you view your situation. May I ask your age?”

“I am four and twenty.”

Yvonne almost stumbled, although there was nothing but trimmed grass before her. 

“Goodness!” she exclaimed, unable to repress her bewilderment. “That young?”

Bonnie was silent. To her, it appeared that she had lowered in Miss Davers favour and, in her disappointment, she had nothing to say. Yvonne, however, was conscious of her own age, having supposed her neighbour to be older than she was. She had not believed the disparity in years to be so large, and she said nothing either, for fear that Miss Donoghue may discover it and wish to terminate the acquaintance.

Yet, a moment later, Yvonne discerned that she was being foolish. Her companion had shown a maturity beyond her years and if not, her intellect would surely guide her to reason. That promise within itself urged her to continue, repentant to have caused Bonnie any humiliation. 

“At any rate,” she persisted, “you are a grown woman and one of substantial means. It would be appropriate for you to dictate the situation that you are in, including which doctor attends to your needs. You have every right to decide which physician you suffer at the hands of, and, when it comes to your health, you do not want to take risks; that may be disastrous.” 

“Yes, I know...” 

Faltering, Bonnie stared down at her hands. She was not irked by the speech of Miss Davers; it was apparent that she meant well, but she was reminded that, as she became older, Bonnie had become less assertive. It was a harrowing reminder of the girl she had once been in comparison to the woman she was at present, and she was distressed that this was the version of herself that she offered to society, to Miss Davers, a woman whom she had so long admired and hoped to meet. 

Yvonne sensed her distress, resolved to console her as well as she could. 

“Only you can choose and you alone,” she reiterated, reaching out, in her fervour, to take hold of her wrist. Her touch was not forceful but it was firm.

Bonnie lowered her gaze in astonishment, tracing the thin fingers that encircled her wrist. The tan complexion of Miss Davers was complimentary to her dark skin, and she marvelled at the contrast between them. Perceiving her blunder, Yvonne hastily removed her grasp, clasping her hands behind her back. 

Petulant at the loss of contact, Bonnie uttered- “Miss Ainsley does not believe that I am capable of forming a decision, as if my mind was all muddled. She thinks that I am an invalid, in sensibility alone. Now that she lives with me, she is forever interfering. It is difficult for me to act against her wishes. Miss Ainsley often likes to have the last word and, as she believes me incapable, she thinks she acts in my best interests by speaking for me.” 

“You, Miss Donoghue?” Yvonne exclaimed. “An invalid? I have never heard such nonsense. On what grounds does she make such a claim? Surely, after so many years, she should know you better.”

“She was different when my parents were with us, but with them no longer here, she is worried that some terrible fate will befall me and there will be no Donoghues left. She thinks there is more danger in the world than I can manage or bear.”

Yvonne smiled at her. “I believe it is you that said earlier- we can be courageous in our own way.”

Bonnie flushed. “So, I did.”

They returned to the house, both satisfied with the walk that they had endured outside, even as the wind became restless. As they ventured through the hallway, the longcase chimed, its persistent oscillation echoing through the spacious foyer. Yvonne heeded the noise, astonished to discover that she had been with Miss Donoghue for a little over five hours. She excused herself, conscious that Penny would be anxious to see her home, especially as supper was expected within the hour. 

As she withdrew, she heard Bonnie call for her carriage, although Yvonne had not arrived in one. She told her so, informing her that she had walked the distance. Bonnie was astounded. 

“You walked?” she gasped. “The whole distance?”

“Yes, over the hill.”

“Over the hill?” she repeated. Her hand curled at her chest, as if she had experienced a great shock. “My, I did not think anybody would be so bold as to walk there.”

“It was hardly a bother,” Yvonne assured her. “I was glad to waste the energy, and I shall be adequately fatigued, upon returning, to enjoy my evening meal. Your company today has been most welcome.”

Bonnie clasped her hands together in delight. “Miss Davers, it is you who is welcome. My day would have been rather dull if you had not come. I hope I have not deterred you from returning; you must visit whenever you wish. I shall be happy to receive you.”

“Name the day and hour. I shall be there.”

“I suppose you may come when you have the time. I hardly know anybody in town. There is no arrangement, as of yet, to visit anywhere, so I will be at home.”

Yvonne was struck with a thought. “Then tomorrow?”

Bonnie was startled, though she did not oppose the idea. With a widening smile, she exclaimed- “Yes, I would be delighted! You may come any time; I shall wait for you.”

Yvonne was visibly pleased, the edge of her lips turning involuntarily upward. She did not believe her contentment to be appropriate, however, her brow furrowing in an attempt to appear indifferent. The attempt was futile; Yvonne’s delight could not be repressed. 

She bowed lowly, receiving a curtsey in return, and, with a parting smile, she spun on her heel, hastening through the entrance, down the steps, and across the driveway. Her departure was marked by the door as it closed behind her, the footman turning to face his mistress. He awaited further instruction, though he did not receive any. Bonnie failed to notice he was there. Craning her neck, she peered through the door pane, one hand reaching up to press against the cool glass.

Observing her distraction, the footman bowed, excusing his presence, although she did not seem to hear him. She was heedless to his absence. Mr Reeves, however, had seen the expression upon her face and did not wish to intrude on her private felicity. He could not fathom the reason behind it, but he knew that the sentiment was not intended for anybody other than Miss Davers. Of that, he was certain.


	20. Considerable Aplomb

Upon her return, Yvonne was notified, by the footman, of Ingham’s arrival. He awaited her in the study, though she inquired as to whether the visit was so urgent that she must attend to him without delay. The answer was in the affirmative, yet the footman admitted that he could not answer in full, as he had assumed, by Ingham’s wish to wait, that it was a pressing matter. 

She inhaled sharply, removing her coat, hat, and gloves. Passing them to him, she threw her cane in his general direction, which he caught with an expert hand. Upon receiving the garments, he bowed and, with no further instruction, retreated from the hall. 

Alone, she headed for the study, opening the door more forcibly than intended. Yvonne had not expected to meet with anyone, and the anticipation that she had suffered on her walk home, in regards to her evening meal, had amassed to an unbearable degree. The meeting was merely a disruption, and it was one that was more bothersome than she could bear. Her visit to Colworth House had tired her, and she did not wish to wait any longer; she had fantasised ardently upon the notion of supper, barely giving thought to the idea that it would not be food that awaited her, but business.

Ingham was stood by the window, turning abruptly when he heard the creaking of the handle. 

“Miss Davers!”

“Mister Ingham, what can I do you for?”

“I came to speak about the factory, ma’am. Your housekeeper was unsure as to when you would return, but Miss Penny said I may wait here, if I liked. She said you had been gone awhile and was likely to return soon.”

“And here I am.” Her hands rose in the air, indicating her presence as she walked to the desk. “Your report must be enlightening, considering how long you have waited.”

Ingham passed the rim of his hat between his fingers, the speed in which he handled the cap growing faster as he addressed her. “Ay, ma’am, I believe it is. I discovered that the man to speak to, when it comes to the matter of lace, is Horace Draper. Mister Draper knows the industry better than any other, hereabouts.” 

The disclosure had visibly caught her interest, and Ingham persisted, gratified that his investigation had been of use. Before he could speak, however, she raised her hand, seating herself behind the desk. 

“What is his role exactly?”

“Lace agent, ma’am. He knows all the factories in the area, but, as it is, he also knows a fair amount around the country, as well as the market for them. Says he wants to assist you if you decided on reopening the factory, or if you were to build another, though he claims it is expensive and time-consuming. He says there are practical alternatives for putting your factory to use, other than for lace, that is.”

Yvonne did not wish to be lectured, telling him so. 

“If I want to reopen my factory for lace, I am perfectly within my right to do so,” she retorted. “I do not care for his opinion; I have yet to meet the man.”

Ingham half-bowed. “My apologies, ma’am.”

She reached for the monocle that had been left atop her desk, not wishing to wear her spectacles in company; Yvonne thought they were unbecoming. Her other hand grasped the letters that had been left by Penny, her attention drawn to the papers before her, rather than her guest. 

“Call for Draper,” she told him, distractedly. “I shall speak to him myself.”

Ø

Horace Draper entered the study with an air of considerable aplomb. His trade did not often align with the gentry of Bedfordshire, and it was a privilege that he was sure to use to his advantage. His admission to Haynes Park was a riveting story, one that he was yearning to tell later that day when he arrived at the alehouse for his daily drink. There were not many who could boast of receiving an invitation to the Davers estate, let alone be allowed into the confidence of Miss Davers herself. Yet, as she watched him stand before her, she doubted that he would ever be counted among those who could boast of her confidence.

From the way he observed her, Draper believed himself to be at an advantage. Miss Davers’ lack of experience in the industry was fortuitous; such a circumstance allowed him to gain jurisdiction over her. Yet, he was sorely mistaken in his judgement. Draper assumed her weak on account of her sex, but she assumed him presumptuous, and only one appraisal was correct. 

“I hear you are the one to speak to when it comes to the matter of lace, Mister Draper.” Placing her monocle atop the desk, she positioned her elbows on the armrests of the chair, her fingertips pressing together. “I assume Mister Ingham has proposed my intentions. Why should I hire you to assist me?”

Hesitant, Draper peered across at Ingham, as if to gain reassurance from his presence. Almost pressed to the wall, Ingham remained silent, not wishing to speak when he had not been called to do so. Miss Davers would address him when she wished for it. 

“Well...” Draper paused, recalling the agreements that he had previously discussed. “Mister Hatheway would like to offer you a hundred twist of yarn, about one-hundred in all, for two-hundred and sixty-five pounds. He says that is the fair price for the amount of yarn nowadays, and a Mister Simmons, from Millbrook, says that he is willing to sell some of his leavers machines for one-hundred and fifty each. However, Mister Simmons says he is unwilling to trade with you, ma’am, whilst you are located in Bedford. If you were to relocate further south of the county then he will agree to a contract with you.”

“I am not relocating to another factory when I already own one,” she remarked. “Not for the sake of saving him money. It will not cost less for me, I assure you.”

“I would encourage you to take Mister Hatheway’s offer, ma’am,” Draper insisted, “if not Simmons. His amount is realistic, within your means, and very much profitable. You will not find a more affordable price anywhere and, if you were to take it, the Dunces will be in a position to trade with you. They may even buy your factory, if you were to want rid of it.”

Yvonne did not answer to bribes. “The Dunces are swindlers. I do not wish to aid them in any way, not if I can help it.”

“They most likely are.” Draper raised his shoulders, allowing them to fall a moment later. He was clearly unperturbed by the information. “Yet, excuse me for inquiring, ma’am, but how do you mean to prove it?”

“I have a suspicion that they are using my plants for the production of lace, which was not the contract that we agreed upon. It was intended for medicinal or consumption purposes, and, if they were to use it for lace, they would not only be paying me a significant amount less than the profit they make from it, they would be in breach of the law. I wish to be compensated for their arrears.” Yvonne leant back in her chair, her indignance revealed in the incessant tapping of her finger against the armrest. “I intend to write to the Lord Chancellor, so that he may visit their factory and discover the plant’s purpose. If he will not inspect the building, I would like permission to do so myself.”

Draper considered her proposal. Despite his previous boldness, he was careful to address her as he said- “By the time you have achieved that, they will have discovered a way to prove otherwise. You will not succeed, if that were to be the case. There will be no evidence. The Dunce brothers would have you look a fool before they are proven to be in the wrong.”

“If it were a surprise to them...” she started.

“If I remember correctly, the Dunces are acquainted with the Lord Chancellor,” Draper spoke across her. “They know him through their father. Do you believe that the Dunces will not realise your plan before then?”

Yvonne could not determine whether his interruption was the cause of her temper, or whether it was the thought that the Dunces, of all people, were granted to best her. Standing determinedly, her hands splayed across the desk, her tall frame towering inches above him, even as she leant forward. 

“I will not be intimidated, not on my own property and certainly not by the Dunce brothers!” Bending her index finger, she rapped its knuckle against the wood, as if she would have preferred to repeat the motion against Draper’s head. “I will do all I can to be rid of them.”

“I understand, ma’am,” he muttered, his courage deserting him. “But in the circumstances...”

Ingham stepped forward, mindful of her rising vexation. He did not impede on account of her pride, but for the poor man before her, who was incapable of persuading her to his opinion. 

“If you listen to Mister Draper’s proposal, ma’am, he has a suggestion that I believe will be of benefit to you. I have given it some consideration myself and it is the most favourable plan that we can currently devise.”

Yvonne was silent, her gaze arching to the corner of her eye. She was apathetic to the designs of Draper, but she could not dismiss her inexperience within the trade. If it was essential to hire him, she would do so. Yvonne was resolved to gain the experience needed before venturing into the business alone. 

Appeased at the notion, she seated herself, one leg crossing over the other. Flicking her hand outward, she gestured for him to continue. Ingham bowed his head, glancing pointedly at Draper, whose modesty had rearranged itself in the wake of her temper. 

“The Dunces are in a better position to trade with you,” Draper explained, cautiously. “If they think you shall sell and trade with someone else, with Hatheway or Simmons, they would have to produce a higher offer, but it also means that they must source the plant elsewhere, if you were to use it for your own means. You have cornered the market in a way that cannot be subdued nor avoided, and you will be able to track the source of their lace, as well as their reliance on you. They would be threatened by your factory, whether it remained here or was moved elsewhere. In many ways, Miss Davers, you have an advantage over them.”

“And I would have to keep trading with them in the meantime?” she frowned. “What if they plan to eliminate me from the market completely, or they want to sell me out of my own factory? If I am not careful, I shall lose it all.”

“If my assessment of you is correct, Miss Davers, you will be careful. They can only buy your property if you are ruinous or if you decide to sell to them. Regardless, they will be required to stay on good terms with you. If you negotiate skilfully in the early stages of your deal, you can raise the price without them being able to object. You will earn the money that they stole without them realising.”

Yvonne turned to Ingham. “I want an account of the Dunces’ lace sales- what they sell and for how much. Can you do that?”

He bowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

She rose from her chair, stepping around the desk and towards the door. Inclining her head in an attempt at a bow, she pressed down on the handle, stepping aside to let them pass.

“Thank you, gentleman, but if you please, I have my supper to attend to and my sister shall be incredibly displeased if I miss it.”

Ø

Yvonne entered the dining room, a pardon prepared upon entry, although there was no explanation as to where she had been. With an exclamation, Penny greeted her, delighted at her sister’s timely arrival. Lady Davers, on the other hand, did not notice that the seat was taken any more than when it was empty. She continued to chew on her mutton, her sharp, grey gaze flickering irritably between her plate and the glass of wine in front. Her indecision, regarding the direction of her attention, did not falter, no less troubled by her surroundings than when Penny spoke.

The girl was inquiring into the earlier whereabouts of Yvonne, though the eldest thought she knew perfectly well where she had been. She responded by telling her so, and that she had been at the neighbouring estate, to which Penny inhaled sharply, almost rising from her seat, as though the very thought itself was causing her to ascend heavenward.

“You were there quite a while,” she declared, rather brashly. “I suppose you spoke on many a subject?” Before she had received a response, she leapt forward in her chair, her hands striking the table. “Oh, tell me, Yvonne! I cannot bear the suspense.”

Yvonne had not intended suspense; she was merely sipping her freshly poured water. Exhaling heavily, she returned the glass to the table, glaring across at Penny. Her sister did not notice. She was continuing to wait in anticipation. 

“We did speak on many a subject, yes.”

Penny raised her brows, a sure indication that she awaited the detail. She was forced to wait, eagerly watching Yvonne, whilst the other chewed heartily on a forkful of carrots. Once she had finished, Yvonne continued-

“We spoke of her family; she told me of her home in Kerry, though I am not entirely familiar with the south of Ireland. She also spoke to me about Miss Ainsley. I believe she is now teaching at the local school, half the week. You know...” Yvonne waved her fork in the air, nonchalantly brandishing the utensil in a circular motion. “That sort of nonsense.”

“I am sure you did not believe it to be nonsense,” Penny remarked. “Not when you were speaking to her.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment. “I suppose not.”

Penny prodded the meat on her plate, incapable of disguising her disappointment. 

“Nothing else?” 

“We spoke about physiology and anatomy,” Yvonne admitted. “She is well versed on the subject, it seems.”

“You never speak to me about biology!” Penny exclaimed, the jabbing of her fork increasingly forceful. She scowled, her gaze flickering from her plate to her sister. “You will not allow it.”

Yvonne was unconcerned. “To speak of the brain, you must first own one.”

“What a pair we make!” Penny uttered, dramatically, her fork now stuck in the slab of mutton. “One does not have a brain and the other does not have a heart.”

“Hm.” 

They passed into silence. 

Lady Davers, upon finishing her wine, appeared to notice Yvonne for the first time, her brows rising in astonishment. She seemed to have mistaken the conversation between her daughters as Penny speaking to herself, and was startled to see the flash of yellow before her, which came in the form of her daughter’s hair.

“Oh, you are back, are you?” she uttered with a disbelieving humph. “And where did you galivant off to today, sunlight? I did not know there was much business to attend to.”

“There was not, no.” 

Yvonne did not answer the question. If she could not admit her previous excursion, Penny would not force her, so she did not answer either. Instead, she devoured her food with a speed that vexed Yvonne, each forkful heartily amassed with the cuisine piled upon her plate. Her conduct was not highly thought of by her sister, who watched her, though she said nothing. Penny glanced upward, knowing that she was the cause of her irritation, and smiled widely. Yvonne, on the contrary, did not appreciate her raillery and continued to eat, glancing down at her plate to discourage any antics that Penny may have in mind. She was adamant that she was not amused, although her obstinacy caused Penny to laugh quietly into her forkful of potatoes. To dampen the laughter, Yvonne spoke out. 

“I have been thinking,” she said suddenly, “that I should like to make some improvements to the grounds. There is a river not far from here. I think it would be a waste to not use it to our advantage.”

Lady Davers was doubtful. “Since when have you cared for that river? It is hardly a pretty one, not unless you go some miles down.”

“This is my estate, is it not?” she questioned. “Do I not have the right to make it as pleasing as I can? It is fashionable nowadays to have some sort of dwelling by the water. We could have a little cottage there; wouldn’t that be nice? If we were to have a cottage, we could have some sort of pathway that leads down to the river and have the grounds around it cultivated. I have thought upon it and there would be no issue in regards to finance.” 

“When we speak of fashion, are we talking upon your terms or society’s? I often find them to be quite different.” Penny regarded her wit more highly than those around her, who were unamused by her comment.

“I am perplexed as to why you would want to implement such a wasteful construction.” Lady Davers sighed, her brow down-turning in a concerted effort to understand her daughter. A moment later, she conceded. “It is unfathomable.”

“Would it not be charming to sit by the water, particularly when the weather is warmer?”

“Yes!” Penny cried, brimming with excitement. “It would be delightful.”

“You do not need a house for that,” Lady Davers retorted. “A bench would be sufficient.”

“I would not want to sit on a bench, mother.” 

The idea was abhorrent to Yvonne, who chewed her food in a manner that suggested she was highly offended. 

“Then walk to the water, stand there, and come back. There is no need, that I can fathom, for you to have a cottage. If the sole purpose of this cottage is to be fashionable, I would rather you occupied yourself elsewhere. We are above such foolishness.”

“If you wish to maintain our status, the Park must age with the times.” Yvonne leant back in her chair. “Our estate should reflect the family as it is now and I do not feel that it does. We need a little more colour, a little more life. Besides, I may do as I wish, for it is my estate after all, but I would prefer to have your blessing. We have the means to finance a house by the river; I think it will add to the charm and richness of the grounds. This is the most prominent estate in Bedford. Should we not then lead the way in innovation?”

“We sit on farmland,” Lady Davers grumbled.

“But it is not a farm,” she retorted. “You would be the first offended if anyone were to refer to it as such. It is our ancestral home.”

Lady Davers laughed so sharply that they were inclined to think that she had hiccupped. “Not for any longer if you two do not start having children.”

Yvonne responded with a scowl, her glare disappearing behind her glass as she swallowed a large quantity of wine. “Children make the place look untidy.”

“Well, I would like children one day...” Penny announced, hopefully. 

“Do not bother yourself,” came her sister’s retort. 

Penny did not disguise her displeasure, though she was granted little time to voice it. Yvonne was approached by the footman, who announced that a letter had arrived from Colworth House. Conceited, Yvonne accepted the missive, intending to wait till she had finished eating. Yet, the moment she had placed it on the table, she took hold of it again, parting the seal with her knife. Her gaze darted eagerly across the page, her delight increasing as she read the short notation, its contents causing her to tighten her grip on the paper. 

_I cannot help but thank you again for your visit today... _

_Despite my lack of social grace, you were nothing but gracious, and a most captivating conversationalist..._

_I shall wait in anticipation for your visit tomorrow; I hope to compensate for my gloomy disposition..._

_Until tomorrow. Yours truly, Miss B. Donoghue._

Sanguine, Yvonne folded the letter, placing it carefully beside her dinner plate. She glanced warningly in Penny’s direction, expecting a barrage of questions, but, to the contrary, Penny did not say anything. Although she shared her sister’s contentment, the youngest was unable to fully rid herself of her earlier vexation and she did not wish to intrude, knowing she would not be confided in, even if she wished it, so she continued to eat in silence. Her indignation went unnoticed. Across the table, Yvonne’s gaze was fixated solely on the letter beside her.

Ø

_12th May, 18-_

_It appears that Doctor Johnson has forgiven me. I have paid him undue attention and he has warmed to my presence, though he seems to be rather anxious. When I release him from his cage, he flutters around me and sits on my hands and shoulders, and, when I leave the room, he becomes distressed. I think he is worried for my absence and I am exceedingly remorseful for the time that we spent apart. However, I feel it was a necessary evil and I cannot explain my intentions to a bird. Nonetheless, we are becoming quite the pair, as we once were, yet he continues to be rather plump. I think Penny has been coming to my room to feed him, although I asked her to quit this extravagant pandering. He is too spoiled for my liking and he has come to expect too much food. If I do not give him more than what is necessary, he chirps at me. I shall not coddle him, no more than an occasional treat; I shall have to speak to Penny, although I have already done so twice. She is too wild with him. _

_...._

_I visited Colworth House today to return the call of Miss Donoghue, who, as I noted, came two days previous. She was quite charming and I found nothing out of sorts. Since the beginning of our acquaintance, I cannot help but ponder on the Doctor and all he said to my mother and I- that Miss Donoghue suffers from nerves and is idle. I did not perceive that to be true. A little pensive, perhaps, but that is natural, considering her situation. Nothing that a little time and encouragement should not fix. I know that he shall be proven a fool, though that would not be difficult. She has no faults. At least, not in the way he suggested and I refuse to let him speak of her in that manner. _

_..._

_I asked Miss Donoghue if I may call again, as soon as tomorrow, and she did not object. In fact, she was eager for the opportunity. I have hoped to see her since she came to Haynes Park, and I can say, now that I have, I hope to see her once more, which I shall- as soon as the morning. There has been a change in me. I am happy. The most I have been in a long while, and I have hope- hope that I can make her as happy as she makes me. In friendship, that is. I believe we shall be great friends and I look forward to the time we may spend together. She said to me how lucky that we should be neighbours. It is I who is lucky. How little she knows it._


	21. For Luck And Courage

Fairview Cottage lay on the periphery of Haynes Park. The cottage itself was once inhabited by the Gibbs family, who had secured the lodging by passing the lease from one generation to the other. However, the Gibbs had come to its last member and, upon the death of their only heir, was soon inhabited by the Bell family, who had been the very persons involved in the carriage accident two weeks prior. 

Yvonne had not forgotten her promise and had resolved to call upon her tenants, which she was determined to fulfil. A horse was requested, despite the groom’s insistence that he should assist her with the carriage. It had been a week since the young man’s arrival, though she had soon become irritable at the sight of him. Quite wilfully, Yvonne had declined her sister’s request for a new groom and, in her neglect, Penny had appointed the man herself, an incident that the eldest had not forgotten nor forgiven. She presumed him to be cowardly, as well as prone to idleness, although that assessment was made purely on the circumstance that Penny had hired him. Yvonne believed that all servants employed by her sister were more amiable than she desired them to be. She was almost sorry for the passing of Wallcott, if only for the disturbance that his replacement had caused in her customary travelling habits. So, without heeding him, she mounted the horse and rode directly to Fairview. 

The cottage was some miles away, but she had taken her most athletic horse, assured that he would carry her enduringly to the cottage, and, with suitable rest, return her home shortly after. Prompting him faster, they arrived in a respectable length of time, slowing to a cantor when the farm came into view. She patted him comfortingly on the side of his withers, complimenting him for his good work. 

As they came closer to the bungalow, their speed lessened anew and they trotted smartly to the gate, the wooden panels barely coming to her waist if she were at standing height. She espied George Bell; he was stood in a small enclosure to the side of the house, his sleeves folded to his upper arms. He was feeding a drove of pigs, unaware of the lady’s presence. Perceiving the horse, Bell peered over his shoulder, quickly turning and bowing as he noted the woman upon it. 

“Miss Davers.”

“Mister Bell.” She climbed from the horse, leading it by the reins to the gate. “I have come to see the boy. How is he?”

Bell approached her, his large calloused hand resting atop the pointed fence. “He is still in himself, ma’am. He has hardly spoken since the accident.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” She held out her hand, a gesture he understood, and slipped the reins to him. As he tied the horse to a nearby post, she started to walk towards the cottage. “Is your wife in?”

“Ay, ma’am. She is.”

Marching across the worn pasture, she approached Fairview, its white-washed stone a charming contrast to the farmland in which it stood. The timbered door was open and she passed through, discovering that she had entered their sole living area, besides the back bedroom. It was furnished for cooking, dining, and socialising, though a large cot had been placed by the window, which, from its design, she knew held the boy. The cot was new, that much she recalled, as she had visited the cottage once before with her father, who had been collecting the rent from their previous tenant.

Leaning over, Mrs Bell did not perceive her, her arm reaching down to prod the open fire, undoubtedly hoping to stir life into its meagre flames. She heard the rustle at the door, seemingly believing it to be her husband, but when she glanced upward to speak with him, she realised that it was her proprietor who stood in the entrance of her house. Exclaiming, she stood to her full height, wiping her hands on her apron. 

“Miss Davers! My, you gave me quite a shock,” she laughed, rather timidly. “I did not expect to see you.”

“I said I would come,” Yvonne declared. “You are my tenants and your welfare is of the utmost importance to me.” Pulling the gloves from her hands, she said, rather disinterestedly- “How have you been, Mrs Bell, since the accident?”

Mrs Bell could hardly speak in her hurry to respond. “I, well, erm...”

“Excellent. How has the house been?”

“It suits us very well,” Mrs Bell replied, with visible gratitude. “We have no reason to complain; there have been no problems.”

Yvonne stepped towards the cot, noting a pair of brown eyes staring up at her. The boy’s astonishment was evident and she almost retreated at the sight of him. Since childhood, she had been adverse to the company of her peers and, as she aged, her aversion for children had scarcely lessened. They were not her equal in intellect and they rarely found her company to be of interest, so the two parties often parted in dissatisfaction. Confronted with such an encounter, Yvonne was unsure of how to proceed. 

“And this is Elijah?” she questioned, though she knew the answer. 

There was a stool beside him, which she sat upon, staring dubiously down at him. He returned the stare. From the other side of the room, Mrs Bell replied.

“Yes, there was no infection after the accident. The doctor saw to that. We are very lucky; he is healing rather well.” There was a pause before she recalled- “I must thank you, Miss Davers, for paying for Doctor Kensley. We could not have afforded such care otherwise. We believe he is doing well because of the service you have given us.”

“Both my sister and I wanted to assist as much as we could. We do not require your gratitude, Mrs Bell, though it is appreciated; we simply wish your son well.” Yvonne peered once more at the boy, whose stare had not lessened. Unsettled by his attention, she leant back on the stool, as if to create a distance between them. She returned her gaze to his mother. “I have brought gifts for Elijah, if he would like to have them. I purchased some toys and sweets from town. I admit, I do not know much of children and their interests, but I was assured by the shop owner that they were very popular choices. I hope you were fond of the basket that Penny sent; she said they were the finest fruit and game she could gather this season.” 

“Oh, yes, they were very much appreciated, Miss Davers.” Mrs Bell swiftly bowed her head. “Please thank her when you see her. I asked George to send a note, but we are not great writers. We thought to ask Mister Ingham, but, now you are here, it is better to tell you yourself.”

“And you have heard about the coachman?” 

“The constable told us that there is nothing to be done; the case has been closed. It was an accident and they cannot charge a man when he is innocent. I believe he has returned to Miss Donoghue’s employment.”

Yvonne was irked, having wished for someone to blame. The loss of a leg seemed a crime within itself, particularly when it involved a child, but if there was no fault on the coachman’s part, she could not condemn him. Turning the conversation from the accident, she looked at the boy, who continued to stare. 

“How are you, Elijah?”

He was silent for a moment. 

“Are you a man or a woman?” 

“Elijah!” Mrs Bell gasped, her countenance reddening. “Miss Davers, I am...”

“No matter,” Yvonne interrupted, though she felt as if her chest had convulsed, quite severely. It would not be the first time that she had been caught unawares by such a question, and she was certain it would not be the last. Silent, she sat for a moment, watching him steadily, as steadily as he watched her. Then she leant forward with a smile, her voice lowering. “May I share a secret?”

Enthralled, Elijah bolstered himself on his elbows, trying to shift closer to where she sat. Yvonne could feel his mother watching them, her humiliation palpable, though Yvonne did not think anybody could be as uneasy as her when it came to such a question.

Whispering to Elijah, she told him: “I am not a man; I am a woman.”

The boy digested the information, lying back down. 

“I see.” He stared at her for a moment longer. “Your hair is quite short for a woman. I have never seen a lady with short hair before.”

“That is because I am not like anybody else,” Yvonne said. “I am my own person. Does it matter to you which gender I am?”

“No,” he admitted. “I suppose it does not matter at all.”

“Good, then have this sweet.” She passed him the paper packet that had been tucked into the pocket of her coat. 

He took them eagerly, scrambling through the variations to pick his favourite. Slurping happily on the hard-boiled sweet, he beamed upward. His smile caught Yvonne unawares, her eyes widening in astonishment. She had not expected to be in his favour and she was now placed in an unexpected position. Hesitant, she returned the smile, her attention drawn from him at the sound of George Bell entering the room. Reminded of why she was there, she continued by reaching in her pocket for another item. 

“I have someone for you,” she announced. “A friend, I hope.” Pulling her hand from her pocket, she brandished the toy with a dramatic air. “He is a little soldier. He reminded me of you.”

Elijah reached up to take it from her, bringing it close to his face. As he studied it with interest, his father hemmed. 

“What do you say, Elijah?”

“Thank you, Miss,” he muttered, thoughtlessly. 

“You are very welcome,” she acknowledged. “Does he have a name?”

He thought on the matter for a minute or so. “His name is Roger, an infantry soldier in the Duke of York’s.”

“Quite right.” She nodded in approval. “He would have to be a brave man to be a soldier. And look...” Leaning forward, she gestured to the small object in his hand. “He has a drum, for all boys need a drum and so do soldiers. I have some other toys on the way to you; they will arrive this afternoon. By tonight, you shall have a drum, so that you and your soldier can match, and I have also acquired you some wooden blocks for a fort, but best of all, you will have a rocking horse. If you want to keep watch for them, I have brought something of mine that you may keep.” Once more, she reached for her pocket, her hand delving inside. Yvonne grasped some faint object, removing her hand slowly. His enthrallment amused her and she endeavoured to heighten his suspense, though she did not wish to impose upon him any longer than necessary. Producing a spyglass, she let it rest in the palm of her hand, the brass glinting in the diluted sunlight. “I have always kept this with me when travelling abroad, and I am now passing it to you. For luck and courage. It is brass and wood, so you must be careful handling it. It can be heavy.”

She slipped the spyglass into his waiting hands. Brushing his fingers along it, Elijah pulled the telescope to its full length, holding it to his eye and directing it at her. He appeared satisfied with the result, a small huff of laughter escaping his lips, and he pushed the eyepiece back to its original length. 

“I will keep watch for you,” he promised. “I will not miss them.” 

“I am pleased to hear it.”

He glanced up at her. “There is no sword?”

Mrs Bell whispered his name in exasperation, but it was concealed beneath the barking laughter of Yvonne. 

“I cannot endorse weapons, young man,” she chuckled, “Not at your age. Though, I am quite the expert at shooting and using a sword, if I may say so myself.”

Elijah’s brow rose, as well as his voice. 

“You can shoot a gun?” he exclaimed, excitedly. 

“Yes, and well. I will show you one day, if you promise to be sensible.”

“What about a sword?”

Yvonne rested her elbows on her knees, leaning forward as she forgot her apprehension towards the child. “That is more complex and I am rather rusty. I hope never to be called to a sword fight, but you can never be too sure. Let us keep to the gun for now.”

Elijah was pleased, his fingers fumbling with the spyglass. Although he was happy, he was fatigued and Yvonne did not wish to tire him unnecessarily. Standing, she wished him farewell. He muttered his own response, although his attention was taken by the items she had gifted him. 

“I hope you make good use of your toys,” she instructed. 

“I will.”

Turning on her heel, she nodded in the direction of his parents, who were huddled at the other end of the room. 

“Thank you, George, Mary, for letting me see Elijah; I hope to be updated on his condition as he continues to heal.” 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“And I hope he likes the rest of the toys that I have bought for him.”

Bell bowed his head. “Ay, ma’am, I know he shall. We cannot thank you enough for your kindness.”

“It is no bother. I shall leave you in peace. If he requires medical attention, I will pay any money owed. You need not worry on that account.”

Wringing her hands together, Mrs Bell was overcome with gratitude. “We cannot ask any more of you...”

“I insist, Mrs Bell,” Yvonne contended. “I would not be satisfied with anything less.”

“Thank you,” was all her tenant could manage, her gaze resting on Elijah. 

He was fumbling with the spyglass, sharing the instrument with Roger, the infantry soldier. Yvonne peered at him from over her shoulder. 

“As long as Elijah is pleased, I am unconcerned about the rest,” she told them. “There is not much I can do other than ensure he has treatment, so I shall have to be content with that. I am only sorry that nothing more can be done.” She raised her voice slightly, as she stared down at the boy. “Take care, young man. I hope you are content when the rest arrive.”

“I shall be,” he promised. 

“Excellent.”

With a bow of her head, she strode towards the door, the couple stepping aside to let her pass. They expressed their farewell, Mr Bell following to untie the horse. On returning her steed, he declared his gratitude one final time, which she acknowledged with a courteous dismissal. Mounting, Yvonne urged the horse forward, its pace accelerating into a gallop. There was no glance spared for the cottage nor its tenant, who continued to watch her as she disappeared across the terrain. Her duty was complete, as she viewed it, and there was no further reason for her to remain there. She could only do as she promised; there was nothing more to be done for the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao, Yvonne does not know how to talk to kids. Can't wait to see how well it goes in her teaching a child how to use a weapon... It's definitely something Yellow would do.
> 
> Also, happy Easter everyone! Hope you all have a wonderful day <3


	22. An Undignified Position

On the week of her arrival, Yvonne had purchased a collection of books from the inventory of the Bedford Library. It was a custom that she had adopted in her youth, one that had provided an appealing escape whilst residing in the confines of her familial home, and one that did not require her to interact with any other soul. Despite her maturity, she was loath to abandon the habit, even as Penny grew older and a more reliable confidante. 

Whilst visiting the library, she had requested a collection of volumes that she found to be of particular interest, though it was not available to loan at this particular athenaeum and would have to be conveyed from London. There was no need to hurry, she had assured the librarian, as it was not immediately required, but it was still a collection that she wished to peruse. Despite the expansiveness of her personal archives, she did not own it herself.

A time was then calculated in which to expect its arrival, a duration that she stated she was satisfied with. Yet, Yvonne discovered, hours later, that she was unwilling to wait and remarked to Penny, on several occasions, that she was impatient, to which the youngest muttered she knew. Fifteen days later, she received a missive that the collection had arrived, the notation reaching her whilst she was in the study. 

This sizeable workroom was situated on the ground floor and had once belonged to her father. In the event of his passing, it was oft used by Yvonne for business matters, who believed the location to be useful in the event of a visitor, for they did not have to travel far. However, on her coming of age, Yvonne had requested her own study and she had received one, which she often referred to as her sanctum. Penny had christened it the cave, for Yvonne spent her evenings there and, if interrupted, was as irritable as a bear, though Lady Davers referred to it as an unnecessary waste. This was situated on the second floor and was primarily in use for her private matters, but mainly for the writing of her journal. The difference between the two was lost on her mother, who demanded insight as to why she needed more than one, though there was nobody else in the manor who wished to use them. 

It was in the lower study that she read the notation, perusing it with her usual swiftness. Once she had finished, she tossed it atop the empty grate, where it was sure to burn later that day, and headed towards the foyer in the hope of speaking to her mother. Lady Davers oft mentioned that she knew nothing of her daughters’ whereabouts, a fault that lay entirely with them, or so she claimed, despite never having acted upon this intelligence herself. On a peculiar whim, Yvonne wished to indulge her, though the search did not last long. She stumbled upon her mother in the entrance hall. 

It was a rare occasion to see Lady Davers outside of her chair, although this development appeared to irritate her, more so than usual. She was waiting for Penny, who, at that moment, was rushing wildly down the stairs. Lady Davers berated her, for the girl had awoken late, the vexation in her voice emphasised by her teetering stance as she attempted to balance, quite precariously, on the end of her cane. Penny merely apologised and hurried to the door. To the baroness, this was an act of contemptuousness and she clicked her fingers in the direction of the nurse, who assisted her across the foyer. 

“Ungrateful child,” she muttered. “She cannot spare a moment to aid her mother.”

Perceiving the murmur, Penny assumed that she was the subject of criticism and halted at the door, turning and hastening to the centre of the hall. Her quickened pace earned a second reprimand; yet, she did not lessen her stride. She approached the baroness and entwined their arms together, ensuring that her mother was leaning steadily against her. As she did, she noted that her sister was also present and turned to her, silently pleading for her intervention. Reluctantly, Yvonne stepped forward, inquiring as to where they were headed. 

“You know perfectly well that we are visiting Mrs Gladstone today,” came the baroness’ retort. 

Yvonne did not know, though she acknowledged that she was not listening, the day before, when her mother had been talking at dinner. They were taking the carriage- the one that she had hoped to use. Lady Davers noted that they owned more than one, yet Yvonne refused to heed her and decided to ride into town on a horse, a resolution that she immediately executed. Her swift departure was followed by a wistful farewell from Penny, her words coalescing with a cantankerous humph from their mother, both of them displeased, in their own way, of her hasty withdrawal.

Ø

Arriving in town, she halted at the rear of the library, tying the reins onto a nearby post and patting the horse tenderly on the mane. She left it to graze idly, tracing the grass beneath her. Its trampled route led to the path ahead, the one which passed the front of the library, and she advanced towards it. On reaching the cobblestones, she paused briefly. To the right was the entrance and she turned in its direction.

The doorway was surrounded by arched limestone, the thick wood fitted into a duplicate of the arch, its hickory-brown surface reflecting brilliantly in the sunlight. As she came closer, she grasped the iron handle, shaped like a ring, and pushed the wood forcefully forward, knowing that it became stiff in the cold. The oak door opened with a resonant groan and, conscious of the noise, she attempted to close it delicately behind her, the resultant thud, once it had shifted into place, echoing in the spacious foyer.

Approaching the desk, she promptly inquired into the collection that she had ordered. Yvonne’s finger tapped against the wood as she spoke, a nervous impulse that she could not suppress. The librarian, having anticipated her arrival, requested that she abide by the counter whilst he fetched the books. She acquiesced, rather reluctantly, knowing, from experience, that he was prompt. 

As he entered the depository behind him, she endeavoured to wait, studying the stonework on the nearest wall, though she soon became disinterested. Her hands clasped behind her back, her finger tapping excitably against the palm of her hand. Turning from one side to the other, she glanced across the empty foyer, hopeful that she would find some inspiration there. She found none. 

The corporal agitation that she was experiencing reached the lower half of her body and she began to pace, her boots barely audible against the wood-panelled floor. Yvonne neared the first aisle, inspecting the books that rested there. Grasping the nearest novel, she inspected it, aimlessly opening the book and reading the first line that she came upon. Unimpressed, she returned it to the shelf. 

Yvonne knew the library well, having spent the largest part of her childhood there, and she knew that the other aisles possessed publications that were of more interest to her. However, when she came to the adjacent aisle, she discovered that her interest was still not taken and she continued to walk, uninspired by the selection before her. She progressed in that manner until the fourth aisle, almost stumbling to a halt as she glanced down the passageway, her eyes widening in astonishment. 

At the centre of the aisle was Miss Donoghue, her shoulder resting against the shelf as she read, her back turned from the entryway. Adorned in blue, she was radiant. The dress came to a halt at her shoulder blades, the hem stretching across the middle, leaving the rest of her shoulders exposed. Her neck was bent downward, even as she held the book rather closely to her face. She kept leaning forward, as if to read better, recalling moments later that she could solve the issue, merely by raising the novel higher. The edge of her lips twitched upward and she tittered lowly, revealing that the passage had been of great amusement to her. 

As she observed the scene before her, Yvonne was conscious that she would soon be discovered, a circumstance that mortified her, as she was currently gawking, in a very unseemly manner, at her neighbour. It would be appropriate, upon reflection, to make her presence known and introduce herself before she was suddenly perceived by the young woman. 

Hesitantly, she stepped forward. 

“Miss Donoghue,” she uttered, her voice low. 

Bonnie peered over her shoulder, her brows rising. She was astonished to be addressed, an indication that she had not expected to meet anyone who she knew at the library. Her bewilderment soon vanished when she realised who had addressed her, a swift smile appearing. 

“Oh, Miss Davers! How wonderful to see you.” 

Despite her greeting, she made no attempt to close the book. 

Yvonne bowed. “I hope you are well?”

“Yes, very.”

Bonnie was visibly amused, though that was less from her happening upon her neighbour than it was from the jest she had read a moment ago. Her bemused silence disconcerted Yvonne, who mistook it for a dismissal. 

Apprehensive, she gestured towards the volume in Bonnie’s grasp. “Are you here to loan a book?” 

Bonnie was startled by the notion, as if the thought had not occurred to her. 

“No,” she contended. “I was simply reading to pass the time. I brought a small handful of texts with me to England. I have now read them, so I came here to amuse myself. I was hoping to stumble upon some book or another that catches my interest.”

“Does this catch your interest?” 

Bonnie glanced down, realising that she had kept the novel open. Closing it, she returned the book to its shelf. “Yes, but I would like to keep it here for when I return to town. I have to wait for Miss Ainsley once a week and if I were to take it with me, I would have to restart my search.”

“So, you are waiting for Miss Ainsley?”

“Yes, I came to town to familiarise myself with some of the shops here and I thought that I should wait for her, since she is to finish in an hour. I thought I may appoint this as my weekly outing, as there is not much to currently do.” The thought occurred to her to elaborate. “Miss Ainsley is at the school this morning. She struggles to walk long distances so I have kept the carriage for her. It would be good for her to return to the House without exerting herself.”

Yvonne raised her brows. “That is thoughtful of you.”

“Yes,” Bonnie smirked. A moment later, her gaze arched upward, her expression souring. “It _is_ thoughtful, though I am certain, that if I were to leave without her, she would protest all week of a pain in her leg. I would rather wait here than suffer for my staying home.”

The story amused Yvonne, which, in turn, appeased Bonnie. They chuckled softly, their laughter disrupted by a call from the librarian. He had returned with Yvonne’s purchase and found her missing. Indicating for Bonnie to remain where she was, Yvonne went to the counter, hastening, in her delight, to retrieve the bundle that awaited her. She expressed her gratitude, presenting the librarian with the full amount she owed him, to which he signed a receipt. He wished her a good day, an assertion that she echoed as she pocketed the paper and returned to Bonnie. The bundle within Yvonne’s grasp piqued the interest of her neighbour, who peered closely at it, as if she could somehow perceive the books through the brown paper. 

“Did you come here solely to collect these?” she questioned. 

“Yes.” Yvonne lifted them upward, seemingly to present the books, though the paper disguised any notion of what they may be. “I thought I should peruse the works of Hume, though I am not entirely convinced of his reasoning. You see, I have studied rationalism quite thoroughly in the past and I believe in its superiority, but if I were to debate the matter, it would be worth considering the opposing side.” She paused, conscious that Miss Donoghue may not be familiar with the author. “Hume, he was...”

“Do you not think he has qualities that are worth admiring?” Bonnie frowned, her voice silencing Yvonne’s, though she spoke softly. “This world cannot be so easily separated into logic and emotion, but I think Hume has some rather tenable theories. I think you shall find a number of them worth your consideration.”

“Oh, you have read his work?” 

“Some, yes.” Bonnie was revelling in the discussion. Nothing pleased her more than to prove her intellect, an enthusiasm that they both shared, though they did not know it. “Perhaps you may come and visit me once you have finished. You can share your thoughts on the matter.”

Yvonne’s brow rose in astonishment. “I shall, if you would like to hear them.”

“I would not ask if I did not, Miss Davers.” Her graze traced the grin of her neighbour, a contented smile appearing on her own countenance. “But I shall not keep you any longer. I am sure you have much to keep you occupied.” 

“No, I am quite at leisure this morning. I have little to do. It was quite fortuitous that the books had come, for I was rather spiritless at home. Penny was resorting to her usual tricks so I was pleased to leave, if only for a short while.”

Bonnie’s interest was re-piqued. “What sort of tricks?”

“She likes to entertain, whenever she can. Last night, she was insistent. I did not want to practice the flute with her; I rarely play anymore, so she said she shall tap her feet on the floor with the rhythm of some piece or another. I would have to guess what the piece was. I cannot tell if I am no good with music or whether she is terrible at dancing in rhythm.”

Bonnie snorted. Abashed, she thought to apologise, though her remorse was soon assuaged by Yvonne, who had also laughed. 

“It sounds fascinating,” Bonnie mused. “She shall have to dance for me sometime.”

“She would like that. Penny often contends that she is not a buffoon, though I told her she ought to act differently then, if that were the case.” Emboldened by Bonnie’s laughter, Yvonne said- “I shall walk you home, Miss Donoghue. If you do not wish to return alone. We are not far from one another, so it would be of no consequence to me.”

“I have to wait for Miss Ainsley,” she reminded her. 

Recalling the governess, Yvonne stifled a sigh. The woman was inadvertently an impediment to the time that she wished to spend with her neighbour, although she could appreciate the age of Miss Ainsley, who would need assistance in returning home over such a long distance. 

“I have a horse...” 

She did not complete the suggestion; Yvonne was repentant to have spoken at all. It occurred to her that she had no true answer to the lady’s predicament and Miss Donoghue may consider her ludicrous if she were to continue any further. Ladies did not simply ride upon horses in their everyday dress, and Yvonne was conscious that her proposition was nothing less than absurd. 

“Oh, you do?” Bonnie giggled, a response that merely caused Yvonne to redden. “I suppose you could return me home on your trusty steed and I may leave the carriage for Miss Ainsley.”

“I do not wish to impede...” Yvonne insisted. 

“No, it is no matter. I do not wish to stay here any longer and I would prefer to return home. My early morning shopping has me quite exhausted.” 

She sighed heavily, as if to reinforce her fatigue. Yvonne, for her part, did not mention that it was midday, rather than the morning, gratified that Miss Donoghue had consented to leaving with her. 

Bonnie had settled her bonnet, quite precariously, atop the books beside her and she suddenly grasped it, placing it upon her head. As she tied the ribbon underneath her chin, she stared intently at Yvonne, a fervent gleam in her eye that caused her companion to flush even darker than before. 

“Do with me what you will, Miss Davers,” she declared. “I am at your mercy. I shall leave a note at the school, so Miss Ainsley knows she has the means of transport at her disposal. Once we have finished, we will be quite alone. You can tell me all about Hume, if you wish. Or rather, your general findings on the subject. I am rather curious to hear your opinion on the matter. Miss Ainsley does not speak of philosophy beyond the purpose of God and, despite my religious beliefs, I believe that stance to be rather restrictive.”

Bonnie exited the aisle as she spoke, her pace quickening the closer she came to the entrance. Following close behind, Yvonne watched her with reverence, uncertain of where they were headed, precisely, but accompanying her, nevertheless. She held the door for Miss Donoghue, who passed through, her head inclining in acknowledgement. Focused ahead, Bonnie was inattentive to her companion, who, as she closed the door behind her, stumbled into the thick oak, too preoccupied with following her neighbour to notice where she was walking. 

Disgraced, Yvonne advanced forward until she was in pace with Miss Donoghue, praying that her blunder had remained unnoticed. By chance, it had. Bonnie was scrutinising the scene before her, anticipating the discovery of Yvonne’s horse, though she could not discern that there was one. 

“He is behind the library,” Yvonne informed her. “He prefers the field behind it to graze, and I thought that he could stay there. You never know when there may be a rogue searching for a horse.”

Bonnie glanced across, good-humouredly. “Are there often rogues around here?”

“Well...” Yvonne felt the package slip in her arms and she hoisted it further upward. “No, but you ought to be careful.”

“I see.” The edge of her lips twitched upward as if she were repressing the urge to laugh. Still, the sentiment in her gaze was sincere. “If that were to happen, I trust that you would protect me.”

Yvonne was silent for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Yes, I have been told I am quite the shot.”

“Then there is nothing for me to worry about.”

She brushed past, headed towards the corner of the building. As she reached the edge, she halted, peering over her shoulder to smile at Yvonne. The woman had been trailing after her, though she paused, rather abruptly, when she noticed that she was being watched. Bonnie appeared to consider her for a moment, amused, before disappearing around the corner of the library. Unsure, Yvonne followed, not wishing to leave her alone. 

On turning the corner, she discovered that Miss Donoghue was mounting the horse without her. She had hoped to assist her, but it appeared that she did not need the support. Her leg swung over the horse in one swift motion, ensuring that she had straddled the steed securely. Tugging at her skirt, she arranged the material so that it hung around her legs in a mannerly fashion, glancing expectantly at Yvonne once she had finished. 

“Are you to join me, Miss Davers?”

Yvonne was silent, though she continued to stare. 

“No,” she said, subsequently. “I will walk beside you...”

“There is room here for the both of us.” She tapped the space behind her. 

“There is no need; I do not wish to impose upon you,” Yvonne uttered. “You may ride atop and I can walk alongside you. I do not mind, else I would not agree to it. I do not wish to place you in an undignified position, not if I can do otherwise.”

Bonnie was sullen. “I suppose that is wise.”

Approaching the horse, Yvonne took hold of the reins, untying them from the post. She urged the horse slowly forward and he followed her guidance. Peering over her shoulder, she ensured Bonnie was securely positioned on the saddle, though the lady did not need her assistance, even then. Miss Donoghue noticed her stare, peering down to smile widely at her. Hesitant, Yvonne returned the gesture, turning to face the scene before her. She was reluctant to exhibit any sentiment on her part, perturbed that she had already shown more propensity to her neighbour than she wished. Yvonne did not wish to appear the fool, although she feared she already had.


	23. The Greatest Privilege

A note was left for Miss Ainsley, specifying that a carriage awaited her in the school courtyard. One teacher, Miss Cotterill, came to greet Miss Donoghue. Being, as she was, the superintendent, she was a stern woman but not unkind. She had been supervising the girls at luncheon and was displeased to be disturbed, although the appearance of a gentlewoman eased her nerves, more so that this particular lady may have an interest in the school, one which would undoubtedly lead to charitable aid, if Miss Cotterill were to be so polite as to make the young woman welcome. Miss Donoghue did not heed the warm reception and simply requested for the message to be sent, with a short compliment on the manner of the girls who passed her by. Once she had completed all the necessary civilities, she departed, inattentive to the farewell of Miss Cotterill, who had hoped to offer a tour of the school and was discouraged that there was not, at the least, a suggestion of future charity. 

Satisfied that she had done all she must, Bonnie returned to the horse and Miss Davers; whereupon, they passed through the town and into the countryside. There was a path that led a mile out of town, one whose course extended in the direction of both estates, though it diverted before it reached either. One could not continue directly ahead, not unless they wished to proceed across the meadow, and the choice lay in deflecting either one way or the other. This deviation was not heeded by the two women. Neither had thought so far ahead as to worry about their imminent separation, continuing to discuss whichever topic came to mind. Their discussion of philosophy and Humes had come to its conclusion, and they had altered their discourse to literature in general. 

However, as they came upon the topic, they arrived at the divergence in the lane, both coming to a reluctant halt. Bonnie exclaimed in astonishment; yet, there was a hint of disappointment to her tone. She moved as if to dismount. 

“I suppose this is farewell...” she uttered. 

Yvonne gestured for her to remain where she was, tugging the reins in the direction of Colworth House. “There is no need, Miss Donoghue. I cannot allow you to walk home. The House is quite the distance from here.”

“It would be no issue,” Bonnie contended. 

“I do not mind walking. Please, I will take you there and return home on the horse. It is no bother. I am used to traversing the territory; nothing shall tire me.”

Unsure, Bonnie was silent. She did not say anything for a minute or two, deliberating the alternative. The realisation that she would have to walk, if she were to dismount, perturbed her; Bonnie was not one to exert her effort unnecessarily, an assessment that caused her to relent. “If you are content to walk, Miss Davers, then I will not object. Still, I would prefer that you join me. There is enough room for the two of us and you have already walked so far.”

“I am used to it,” she insisted. Glancing upward, she noted the concern upon her neighbour’s features and smiled encouragingly. “I really am content, Miss Donoghue.”

Bonnie, upon hearing so, was eased and returned the smile. Her satisfaction placated Yvonne, who was intent on finishing their discussion. 

“If you are searching for new books to read, I insist that you use my library.” Walking steadily beside the horse, she peered up at Bonnie. “I have a number of titles, some impressive collections that once belonged to my father and my family on both sides. I am sure you will find one piece or another that you have not yet read.”

“I could not disturb you; I know that you are working, quite diligently, on your new factory. Such an endeavour, I could not infringe upon.”

“Nonsense,” Yvonne proclaimed. “You may visit the Park whenever you choose. If I am not there, Penny shall see to it. She would be pleased to see you again. If neither of us are home, you are free to sit in the library as long as you like. Or you may come and take some book or another and return home, whichever suits you most.”

Bonnie asserted that the whole ordeal was unnecessary, though her protests were weaker than before. Her countenance revealed that she was gratified to have use of the library and was already deliberating upon which books may be there, a circumstance that thrilled her, the longer she thought of it. 

Subsequently, she admitted- “I would love that very much, Miss Davers.” There was a slight pause before she added: “There is a great need for me to socialise more than I already am. I am aware of that, though I do not know how to begin associating myself with the families here. There is no illusion, on my behalf, that I have many friends in the county. That part of my life, I am afraid, is rather lacking. If I were to settle myself with a few acquaintances in the area, it would be much easier to expand my time beyond Colworth House.”

There was no aspect of her neighbour’s existence that could not be altered nor corrected, and Yvonne did not believe these changes to be unattainable to Miss Donoghue, if she were to commit to the pursuit of her own betterment. Yvonne had experienced the confines of mediocrity, where, in her oddity, she had been branded as abnormal or worse, unsound of mind. She was certain that a similar experience had befallen her neighbour, a circumstance that vexed her, as much as it perturbed her. The inimitable Miss Davers was not the timorous child she had once been, and she had wished, long ago, that someone would save her from her own existence. Nobody had. Yvonne questioned if she could condemn another to the same fate, though she already knew the answer. 

“Why do you not have a gathering, Miss Donoghue?” Her voice was brazen in the still air, an earnestness that had formed from the remnants of her indignation. “At your house. You will be in an environment that is familiar to you and where you are in control. Only those who you invite will be there, and you can determine the time in which they leave if you have grown tired of their presence.”

Bonnie clasped her hands together. “Oh, what a splendid idea! Both yourself and your family will be the first to receive invitations. I shall see to it.” 

“It will be an honour.” A thought occurred to her as she walked. “How about the Church? They will welcome you there and a congregation is the surest way to community. There is a lovely chapel, not far from here. Highly respectable. Since there has been a Davers upon this land, we have attended Saint Mary. I shall take you.”

“Is it a Catholic church?”

“No,” Yvonne frowned. She had not anticipated such a question, as though it were beyond the realms of possibility. A faint remembrance occurred to her- Miss Donoghue had mentioned religion on their first meeting, though she had thought nothing of it. “Church of England, naturally.”

“Then I am afraid I cannot attend.” Bonnie hesitated, her gaze lowering uncertainly. “I am Catholic and I know of a church not far from here that may accommodate me and my practice.”

Yvonne knew it to be a sensitive subject; yet, she could not be satisfied with the result. In the hours that she had pondered Miss Donoghue, and the time that they would undoubtedly spend in each other’s company, she had relied upon the harbour of religion and the ease in which it created connections when others could not be found. This connection was now closed to her and she could not repress the irritation that arose in the wake of this revelation. Withal, she knew to approach the discussion with a delicacy that she had not before, for fear that she may cause offence.

“You may still accompany me, if you wish. The journey is less cumbersome for you and your conviction would not be undermined.” The hope that she felt was apparent. Nevertheless, as she peered upward, she knew that the lady was not convinced. 

Bonnie spoke with a cold civility that was unlike her, so far as Yvonne knew her to be. Yet, the coldness settled so naturally upon her features that it was not, perhaps, so unlike her as her neighbour thought. 

“I appreciate your kindness, Miss Davers, but, on this occasion, it is ill-placed. I have been restrained my whole life when it comes to religion and how I choose to practice it; I have not been gifted with the privilege that you have. There is an independence here, one which I did not have in my home country, and I wish to use that to my advantage.” She paused, her features solemn. Despite her dejection, there was an unfaltering proudness to her. “Times have changed, or so they say in law, but nothing has, not in any way that matters. Years of strife will not disappear because of a piece of paper_(5)_. So, you see, it matters greatly where I attend Church and my conviction will most certainly be undermined. I would not ask you to compromise on such a meaningful part of your identity, so I hope that you will not ask the same of me. Each time we meet, I feel we understand each other, as well as two souls can. I hope that you understand me now.”

Yvonne was silent, repentant to have offended Miss Donoghue. She supposed that her judgement had been narrow in regards to religion, but also to how they may come to know each other. 

Wishing to atone for her indiscretion, she said: “I am sorry to hear that this is the case, Miss Donoghue. I know there has been discord in Ireland for longer than even I have been on this earth, but I am at least appreciative to know that you can practice your religion more openly. You must know that I understand you perfectly; I was simply hoping that we may see each other at church, where I could introduce you. If you have already chosen somewhere that serves your needs then I know that you shall find friends there who are more suited to you. I am only sorry that we shall not see each other more.”

The sobriety of the lady vanished and she guffawed. “Miss Davers, how you amuse me! We shall see plenty of each other; you must not worry on that account. You do not need to confront the Church in who has the privilege of seeing me every Sunday. You may simply visit me whenever you choose.”

“Well, I...” Yvonne did not know what to say, so she decided that, perhaps, it was appropriate to say nothing at all. “I suppose you are correct.”

Content to abandon any remnants of discomfort, Bonnie persisted. “It is commendable how you apply yourself, so devotedly, to your practices. For that, there can be no criticism. Are you active within your community?”

“I apply myself to all that I do.” Yvonne straightened her stance, her shoulders arching backward. “I have donated time and resources to the Church, and I am honoured to be invited to read my own sermons when the occasion requires it.”

A privilege that Yvonne prided herself on, it was not one that was shared, with equal deference, by her family. Penny preferred the Bible only when it spoke of battle or love affairs, for she craved theatrics, but Lady Davers did not have any preference. She often fell into a deep slumber, despite being seated on the front pew, and although the priest could view her there, she was never abashed at her own conduct. In her opinion, the priest was inept and that was not a fault she could lay claim to. Regardless, Yvonne’s sermons were met with a keen interest by the congregation, if not her family, and she revelled in the acclaim.

“That is an honour,” Bonnie mused. “I am sorry that I will not be able to hear them; you must share them with me when you visit. If you have a written copy, I shall read it. How funny that we are so divided in belief and yet, we share one God! I am interested to hear of your opinion, even if it may be distinct to my own. We should not quarrel, I hope. We are not so obstinate as to do such a thing.”

“No,” Yvonne insisted, “We could never.” She was humbled by the conversation. Yet, she was gratified that, despite her blunders, her neighbour continued to show an interest in their prospering acquaintance. “I must thank you for offering to read my work; it is a great honour.”

Bonnie looked ahead. Colworth House could be seen in the distance, the grey exterior distinctive against the surrounding fields. She watched it grow in size, the closer they came, and she smiled sadly at her companion. 

“I am always happy to hear what you have to say, Miss Davers.”

“Likewise.”

They scarcely spoke as they approached the House. Yvonne attempted, several times, to encourage Bonnie into speaking, though the lady was quieter, the further they walked. The sight of the manor appeared to grieve her and she became listless, although she answered Yvonne as courteously as she could. 

Their journey concluded shortly after, an event that caused Bonnie to lightly sigh, though Yvonne did not perceive it. She glanced expectantly at Miss Donoghue, gesturing that she should assist her from the horse. 

“I will hold you as you come down,” she offered. 

Bonnie did not move, watching her, cheerlessly, a display that caused Yvonne to consider that she may not descend at all. Uncertain, she stepped closer and raised her arms, which seemed to spur Bonnie into bringing her leg back over the horse. Yvonne did not want her to fall suddenly, taking hold of her waist. 

In the same moment, Bonnie leapt from the stirrup, her hands resting atop her neighbour’s shoulders. She landed gracefully, despite pouncing forward, and they discovered, now she was on the ground, that they were facing each other, rather closely, neither removing their grip. 

Exhaling lightly, Bonnie’s shoulders drooped. “I suppose this is goodbye.”

“It is a farewell.”

“Then I shall see you soon?” 

“As soon as you wish it.”

There was a rustle by the entrance to the House, both glancing across to see the footman opening the door in preparation for his employer’s return. Bonnie let her hands slide from Yvonne’s shoulders, the action slow and tentative, as if she were reluctant to release her. Then she stepped back, her hands clasping together. 

Troubled by the silence, Yvonne spoke out. “I suppose I ought to return home.”

She took hold of the reins, though she hesitated, staring a moment longer at Miss Donoghue in the hope that she may speak. When she did not, she drew the horse closer, preparing to depart; yet, before she could mount, Bonnie reached out and took hold of her wrist. 

“Miss Davers!” she blurted, astonished, as much as her cohort, that she had seized her. Hesitating, she loosened her grip as if to release her, but then she tugged lightly at her wrist. Yvonne obliged by stepping closer. “You have been so kind to me; I cannot express the entirety of my gratitude. To have come here and to have found a friend in you, a friend that is so good to me, it has brought me much comfort.” 

“It is I who is grateful,” asserted Yvonne. “To have you even consider me a friend is the greatest privilege.”

This appeared to satisfy Bonnie, who released her. She remained where she stood, only for a second, to smile in contentment. Then she turned and advanced towards the House. Her stride was unhurried, as it often was, and she halted at the door to wave at her companion. Yvonne imitated the gesture, smiling in return. She continued to watch Miss Donoghue until she had disappeared from the doorway, the footman having closed the door behind her.

Delaying her departure, Yvonne did not return to the horse but continued to stare at the door. She regarded this action as nonsensical, however, and hemmed, rousing herself from her reverie. Yvonne turned from the estate, mounting the horse and spurring it onward. She did not glance towards the manor as she left, believing that she had squandered enough of her time; it would be appropriate to return to the Park where work awaited her. As the horse galloped down the driveway, neither the animal nor the rider sensed that they were being watched. 

On entering the manor, Bonnie had hastily removed her apparel, which had amused her footman, and hurried to the nearest room. She dashed to the sill, leaning against it to observe the departure of her neighbour, merely to discover that she had not yet left. Thrilled, her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Her gaze followed the gentlewoman as she stood there, though she soon turned from the estate and mounted the horse. 

Bonnie continued to stare, watching Miss Davers until she was no longer in sight, the tip of her nose almost pressed to the glass as she leant forward. Without realising, her lips had parted and a circle of fog had steamed the pane where her breath brushed against it. Despite her neighbour’s departure, she did not come away from the window till minutes later. 

Chapter Notations

5\. Catholic Emancipation had only just passed in law. Starting from the Tudor Period- the separation of state and church under Henry VIII- Catholicism gradually declined and was often criminalised within England and eventually, the United Kingdom as a whole. Being a separate country, Ireland maintained a Catholic majority, despite the encouragement of Protestantism. However, as it came under English rule, there came a class divide, a racial divide, and a religious divide. English settlers in Ireland, as well as the few Irish aristocracy, mainly transferred to Protestantism and had hold over land and law. Any Catholic gentry and aristocracy were dissuaded through law to be Catholic by refusing them land and property (though some old Irish nobility were allowed to keep their land, as in the Donoghues' case- the O'Donoghues being a real clan that lived in Killarney and would have had the right to keep their property, this being an extremely rare case). That meant only the poor/peasantry were Catholic and there came a distinct class divide, as well as an English/Irish divide and a Catholic/Protestant divide, a divide that continued after the freedom of Southern Ireland and even up until the late 20th Century. Despite the Catholic Emancipation bill, discrimination against the Irish and Catholics continued over 100 years into the future. Here, Bonnie is part of the gentry/lower nobility and would have been able to access private, as well as privately funded, churches, where she may be less susceptible to discrimination. This is not the case for a lot of working/lower class citizens. She is also now free in law to openly practise her religion, which is why she is so adamant here to do so, and why Yvonne does not want to cause offence by insisting she immerse herself in Protestant (Church of England) circles.


	24. Good Friends

One evening, a letter arrived from Colworth House, signed with the ornate hand of Miss Donoghue. She had requested that the Davers come for tea, though the missive hinted there was another purpose for their being invited. Yvonne questioned what it may be. As for Penny, she was elated, having leant over her shoulder to read the note. Upon learning that she was invited, along with her sister, she bounced excitedly into the air. Her hand had come to rest on Yvonne and she shook her back and forth, laughing in delight, despite the eldest trying to prise her from her shirt. 

“Please refrain from thrusting my shoulder about,” she remarked, haughtily. 

Penny released her, no less merry than before. 

“Tea, Yvonne!” she exclaimed. “Tea! It has been some years since we were invited to Colworth House. Do you think our friendship has begun with Miss Donoghue?”

Yvonne recalled what had passed between them, the last time they had met. “Yes, I think we can call it a friendship. There is every reason to believe that it is.”

It would be unnecessary, in her opinion, to mention that Bonnie had so much as confirmed it, not because she wished to keep it a secret, as was the usual case, but because she could not abide the barrage of questions that Penny would undoubtedly ask. Yvonne wished to sleep that night without a headache. 

Penny fell into the seat beside her, her cheeks flushed from excitement. “I knew we would become the greatest of friends. You two, best of all.” She elected to ignore Yvonne, whose brow raised in offence. “Oh, yes, we shall get along splendidly. When shall we depart?”

“Midday. Please endeavour to leave your bed before noon. We cannot dawdle if we are to make a good impression.”

Peering across, Penny smirked, an expression that Yvonne did not care for. “I shall be awake, dear sister. I do not wish to stain your honour before the Great and Honourable Miss Donoghue. How thoughtless and careless I would be! No, I shall be ready to visit thy Lady. And, in the morning, I will request our finest carriage. How impressive we shall be when we circle the grounds!”

Yvonne stood. “I do not appreciate the gibe, Penny. It is superfluous.”

“You never do,” she hummed, unoffended. 

Silent, Yvonne fumbled with her cufflinks, though there was no discernible reason as to why. Once she was satisfied- that satisfaction being that she looked less cross than usual- she glanced briefly at Penny. 

“Good night.” 

The remark was short, but not without affection. Yvonne leant over to kiss the top of her head, her lips pressing against the curled hair, its chestnut hue glistening in the glow of the fireplace. Penny’s smile widened and she watched her, contentedly, as she headed for the door. 

“Goodnight, Yvonne.”

Ø

The following day, the sisters were admitted into Colworth House. Mr Reeves received them at the door, attending to Penny first as she had untied her bonnet and was attempting, rather hastily, to remove her pelisse. Moments later, he captured, rather clumsily, Yvonne’s hat and cane, which she had thrown in his direction.

“Thank you, Adam,” Yvonne acknowledged, thoughtlessly.

This intimate knowledge of the footman revealed her familiarity with the house and the staff, an event that caused Penny to raise her brows. Her expression was so remarkably similar to that of her sister’s that their relation could not be disputed, though Yvonne did not perceive it. She was peering into the nearest mirror, sweeping back a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead. 

Penny smiled, rather smugly, believing that she had happened upon a great secret and turned from the others to stifle her laughter. Undoubtedly, Yvonne would not appreciate her raillery, not in the house of their neighbour, so Penny endeavoured to conduct herself in the most appropriate fashion. 

Once the footman was satisfied that they were tended to, he led them to the drawing room where Bonnie awaited them. She was seated on the divan but stood upon their entry. Curtseying, she recited all the usual civilities that were expected of her. It was not the first time that the eldest Miss Davers had been invited into her home, but it was for the youngest, and Bonnie wished to please her as well as she could. 

Penny, however, was not as ceremonious as her sister. She rushed across the room before the reception was complete, taking hold of her hands and holding them tightly within her own. 

“Miss Donoghue, what a delightful surprise for you to call us here. My sister and I are overjoyed, are we not, Yvonne?” The only pause was in her sharp intake of breath. Yet, in this brief interlude, Yvonne hummed swiftly and apathetically, revealing her familiarity with her sister’s chatter. “Why, only yesterday we had decided upon inviting you to tea and it appears you had the same idea! Now, we are all together, as good friends should be.”

She peered over her shoulder to smirk at the eldest, an impish gleam to her eye that was perceived solely by her sister. Yvonne did not say anything, though her lips pursed tightly together. 

Bonnie was charmed to hear that her letter had been so warmly received, ignorant to the taunting looks that passed between them. “Thank you, Miss Davers...”

“You may call me Penny.”

“...I am gratified that you both came; I can only hope to be the perfect hostess. You see, I have an ulterior motive for bringing you here. I hope you can forgive me for being so impertinent.”

“You are forgiven,” Penny asserted, though she did not know the reason. 

Bonnie glanced apprehensively towards Yvonne, who had remained by the door. Realising that she was expected to talk, Yvonne added- “What may we do you for, Miss Donoghue?”

Hesitant, Bonnie seemed to reconsider, as though she no longer wished to tell them. She glanced to the far side of the room, some object capturing her attention. This object, whatever it was, caused her shoulders to sag, as if she had no other choice but to confide in them.

“I require your assistance,” she admitted, “if you may be so kind as to help me.” 

“We shall,” Yvonne responded, determinedly. Her answer was silenced by Penny as she simultaneously said- “Nothing will delight us more.”

Bonnie was visibly relieved, guiding them to her writing desk. It was situated by the far window, its sash arrangement overlooking the righthand side of the manor. The view was made all the pleasanter by the shrubbery and flowers that were planted along the walkway. Being summertime, she thought the view was rather charming and she had placed the desk deliberately by the window. 

They clustered around the davenport, all three staring at its meticulous arrangement. A stack of paper had been piled neatly atop, bordered with a silver lining, and a pen was placed nearby, awaiting use. Bonnie gestured nervously towards the papers. 

“I heeded your advice, Miss Davers.” She looked directly at Yvonne, her countenance contrite, as if she had made a terrible mistake. “Once I purchased the paper, I realised that I had been hasty. You see, I do not know anybody, besides you both. Or rather, I have not become acquainted with the families that live here. I could not begin to list who should be invited and who should not. It would be exceedingly invaluable to me if you were to offer some acquaintances of your own. I would be indebted to you both.”

“Is there to be a party?” Penny exclaimed, her thrill reaching a peak that even she had not fathomed. “We are invited?”

“Naturally,” Bonnie smiled. “I could not have a gathering without you both. You were the first to welcome me here and you will be the first to receive invitations.”

Penny could barely restrain herself, her suppressed elation causing her to fall silent. She had never been invited to a gathering. Children her age had never included her; they used to whisper that she was odd. It was in her nature, they would say, for she was a Davers. As to other parties, she had been too young for the functions that her family attended, and now, barely into adulthood, Lady Davers prevented her from leaving the Park, regardless of invitation. Nevertheless, it occurred to Penny that she was to experience a party for the first time and her mother could not refuse, particularly if Yvonne were to chaperone. Her excitement overwhelmed her. 

Yvonne placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her, stepping towards Miss Donoghue. “If it is a small gathering then it shall not take us long to compile a list. We know all the families who are worth knowing in the county.”

“Oh, yes!” Penny concurred. “Very amiable people.”

“Wonderful,” Bonnie grinned, seating herself at the desk. She grasped the fountain pen and a sheet of paper, clearly wishing to compose a draft. Peering upward, she noticed that the sisters were still standing and she gestured towards the nearest chairs. “Please, sit. We may be awhile.”

“Not long,” Penny insisted, pulling her chair closer to the desk. “This will be quick work, I am sure of it.”

Yvonne concurred, both Miss Davers insistent that they should produce the document in less than an hour. Nevertheless, they discovered, soon after, that they could not agree. Yvonne wished to include a modest selection of couples throughout the neighbourhood, as they were more engaging, or so she felt. She contended that their age was a benefit to them- they were not mindless busybodies who delighted in gossip, a statement which provoked Penny into exclaiming loudly. 

To the contrary, Penny advised that it was more appropriate to invite the eligible women within the area, as they were fashionable to be acquainted with. Such friendships would allow Bonnie to be in favour and compose connections of her own age. Yvonne, however, was steadfast in her opinion and Bonnie knew her to be reasonable.

Befuddled, she sat in silence, for she could not decide which was the better option. 

“But if you were to invite some of the older couples,” Yvonne disputed, “you will meet other women, regardless. They shall introduce you to their daughters, who are of your age. You will be much requested within these circles; you will not be neglected. Besides, they have a financial security that is unequalled. If you wish to travel and experience the country more, they will aid you in that endeavour. Young women have to wait for permission or for invitations, which may take months. It is tedious and entirely reliant on remaining in favour. I would not suggest relying on them; they are restrained. You will be too.”

This suggestion of independence enticed Bonnie, though she acknowledged she did not want to spend her time with the elderly. She had wanted company beyond Miss Ainsley and it seemed she would be exchanging her custodian for a whole body of Miss Ainsleys, a thought which grieved her. Subsequently, she decided to compromise. 

“I can invite a selection of each,” she proposed. “Some of these people are of the same family. Perhaps we shall select those who are agreeable on both sides- those who are toward my own age, whoever you believe to be pleasant, and their parents.”

The sisters were silent. Despite the reticence, it was evident that they had come to an agreement. It appeared that this arrangement had not occurred to either and they were disconcerted at such an error, staring dumbfoundedly at their neighbour. Bonnie was unperturbed, giggling at the scene before her, the tip of her finger tracing the small cat that she had sketched on the paper whilst the two had been quarrelling. 

“Yes, well, that will do,” Yvonne uttered, soon after. “Five families should be sufficient.” She leant forward as she spoke, a motion which prompted Bonnie to take hold of her pen. “If we were to choose, there are the Spencers, the Haringtons...”

“The Mounts!” Penny disrupted. 

Yvonne groaned, uttering her name in disbelief. 

Penny stared at her, wide-eyed, as if she could not comprehend her objection. “Oh, Yvonne, you know they should be invited.”

“Henrietta?”

“Well...” The appropriate word seemed to escape her and she struggled, for a moment, to compose her argument. Yet, she soon came to a resolution that she was content with. “She is a wise investment. The Mounts know everyone hereabouts so, regardless, they should be there. More importantly, Henrietta and Euphemia are close to Bonnie in age. They know who to acquaint her with.”

“I suppose that means the Leongs are invited,” Yvonne muttered, darkly.

“Yes.” Penny’s finger tapped soundly against the paper on which Bonnie was writing. “The Leongs too.” She whispered furtively in her direction. “They are the Mount’s cousins.”

“And the McLarens,” Yvonne added. “That should be all.”

Penny nodded, sagely. “Yes, for now, at least. A rather distinguished assembly, if I may say so myself.”

“You may!” Bonnie proclaimed, finishing the list. 

She was appreciative to remove herself of any burden; this was her first party in hosting, though she was regretful that her parents could not be with her. Undoubtedly, they would have guided the evening to its merited success. It had been a subject of much speculation between them, and she had revelled in the day in which she would attend her first party or, even greater, her first dance. Since their passing, Bonnie did not speak with Miss Ainsley, their preferences being so dissonant. Ergo, she usually had no assistance at all, despite her lack of experience. This ineptitude troubled her, as she did not believe she was capable of hosting to the standard that was expected of her. Nevertheless, she could acknowledge that, with the support of the Davers, the night would be a joyful one, if not faultless. 

Once she had finished transcribing, Penny took the paper from her, adding their full names, titles, and addresses. Bonnie thanked her, chastising herself for having forgotten to include them. Her neighbour did not think anything of it and smiled kindly.

“If you decide that you do not wish to include anyone- the Mounts, for example- you may remove them,” Yvonne stated. “It is ultimately your decision.”

Penny tutted. “There is no need to remove anyone from the list. It is more than satisfactory.”

“Yes, it is your party,” Yvonne mentioned to Bonnie, “but you must do what you feel is right.”

Bonnie refrained from laughing, smiling contentedly across at her. “I think we have a fine collection. I shall not alter it now.”

Yvonne did not reply, though her arms crossed in displeasure. This reaction did not offend Bonnie; she was becoming accustomed to her neighbour’s temperament. 

“Miss Ainsley said you would be good friends to have and I must agree with her,” she declared, cheerfully. “You have been most helpful. You are exceedingly assertive when it comes to how you feel and who occupies your time, the both of you. If you are certain that I shall benefit from these acquaintances, I am inclined to believe you.”

Penny finished the list with an extravagant flourish. Even in writing, she was dramatic, though she was pleased with the effort. “This is an admirable start. If this does not lead to the social occupation that you wish for, I shall be greatly surprised! I am certain a woman like you will not struggle to find acquaintances, as charming as you are. Though you will wish for peace once you have begun. The families, they are not tiring, but you will hardly wish to be around them hereafter. Once you have heard what they have to say, they usually have nothing more to include, although they are very welcoming.”

Bonnie was somewhat soothed by this assertion, yet there was an uneasiness within her that was not quite alleviated. She stared wistfully at the desk, her voice lowering. “I suppose I shall be tired of socialising soon. In a fortnight, I shall be travelling to Loch Ness with a friend of mine.” 

“How delightful!” Penny exclaimed.

This announcement was received less happily by Yvonne. Her arms unfolded, quite unconsciously, and she half-demanded, half-inquired- “How long for?”

“Four weeks,” she told them. “I am very fond of Annie.” As she spoke, she did not look very fond of her, nor did she attempt to look as if she were. “She was my school-mate, one of a small group of us, and she was the one who invited me to live here in England, although she expected me to join her in London. When I told her of my plans to live in Bedford, she insisted we travel together and we agreed upon Scotland. I have long hoped to visit the country, but now the time has come, I hardly know if I have the spirit for such an adventure. Four weeks is not long, but it is long enough. If I am weary or we fall upon dull company, it is difficult to return without effort. These past two weeks alone, Miss Ainsley has been continually asking about which furs to take, as it is meant to be cold this season.” 

“It is cold every season,” Penny reasoned. 

“I do not blame you for being apprehensive, Miss Donoghue,” Yvonne retorted, her arms folding once more. “Socialites are tiring and often trying.”

“Not at all!” Penny frowned in her sister’s direction. With her head turned from Miss Donoghue, she silently rebuked her, returning her attention, moments later, to their neighbour. “It shall be an adventure worth remembering. You shall adore Scotland! Once you return, you shall have a memory that you savour for the rest of your life.”

“You are not required to leave, if you do not want to,” Yvonne grumbled. “You are free to do as you wish. Stay at home, by all means. If you want to travel elsewhere, I can accompany you to Oxford or Cambridge. If you wish to visit the seaside, we can travel as far as Great Yarmouth. Not far from there is Caister, which is worth a visit. Even the Ouse is lovely at this time of year, if you wish to have a picnic.” 

There was a look of consideration on Bonnie’s features that vexed Penny, for it was quite sincere. It was selfish of her sister to try and prevent their neighbour’s journey, particularly when the lady herself was so easily persuaded to her opinion. Miss Donoghue had placed her trust in Yvonne and quite unknowingly, her sister had used that to her advantage. 

“You should not stay,” she opposed, scowling briefly at Yvonne. “You promised your friend, did you not? To withdraw from your agreement would most likely upset her. Besides, you want to travel, as well as to socialise. Is this not the perfect opportunity? You shall have a wonderful time once you are there. It is natural to be apprehensive when you are not used to travelling.”

Yvonne had fallen silent. She did not wish to hinder Miss Donoghue, though she feared she may have. Her desire to keep the lady’s company meant that she had placed her own needs first; yet she knew, in reality, that they were insignificant, particularly in comparison to her neighbour’s enjoyment. She resigned herself to Penny’s advice, knowing it to be the correct one, and smiled at Bonnie, who was unsure of who to heed. 

“She is correct, Miss Donoghue. It would be better for you to leave. You will experience much that you cannot here. I cannot replace the company of a good friend. It was discourteous of me to suggest otherwise. You shall certainly appreciate Scotland; it has many beautiful sights.” 

Bonnie tilted her head, quietly contemplating the woman before her. A soft smile appeared on her lips, her voice equally soft. 

“Miss Davers, you are a good friend.” There was a moment of silence where she recalled that Penny occupied the seat beside her. “You both are. I would be as happy here with the two of you as I am in another country. Besides, Annie is fond of complaining, so a change in companionship would not be unwelcome. If not now then in the future, we will travel together.”

As she finished speaking, Yvonne blurted out, unwittingly- “Then you may come with me to Moscow?” 

The astonishment of the two women- both Penny and Bonnie- was so profound that they fell into reticence, for both were staring incredulously at her. Yvonne perceived their silence, fearful that she had encroached, rather impudently, on her neighbour. 

“I am planning to travel again in the future,” she explained. “Moscow was one of the cities I was hoping to visit... That is, if you are interested in accompanying me. I have been searching for a suitable companion.”

Penny glanced at the woman beside her, who was startled into uncertainty, and returned her attention to Yvonne, who sat bashfully under the scrutinization of them both. There was not a time, that she could recall, where her sister had been so brash and she raised her brows, simultaneously curious and bewildered. Yet, before Yvonne could retract her proposal, Bonnie answered in the affirmative. 

Startled, Yvonne craned her neck forward, as if she had misheard. “Yes?” 

“Yes,” Bonnie nodded.

“Yes!” Penny cried out in her delight, her hands clapping together.

Yvonne reddened, though she tried to repress it, abashed to do so before her sister. 

“Well, I...” she hurried to say. “You see, my mother’s health is my primary concern. I cannot leave until I am certain that she is well. It would be seen as a slight and I would prefer to part on good terms.” At this declaration, Penny huffed in laughter, though Yvonne did not respond. “There is also my factory to think of. That should not take long and I shall be abroad once I know it is in good hands. As I mentioned, I have been searching for a companion that suits my needs and my habits, though I think there is every reason to believe that we are well-matched. If we were to spend some time abroad together, we would be able to ascertain whether that is the case.” 

“I know that I have come to Colworth House but this is the first time I have ever travelled abroad,” Bonnie admitted. “I have no experience of the world, not outside of Ireland and not beyond Bedford. Not truly.”

“Then you must come with me.”

By this time, Bonnie was thoroughly convinced and said: “I shall!”

There was no indication, on Yvonne’s expression, that she was pleased with the assent. However, there was an air of hubris to her, as she leant back in her chair, that revealed how satisfied she truly was. Penny, in contrast, could not contain her delight and clasped Bonnie’s arm, shaking it as vigorously as she shook Yvonne the night before. Bonnie did not seem to mind and smiled at them both, equally conceited as her neighbour at the outcome of this exchange. 

An agreement was then made in which they would plan their travels at a later date. With the discussion directed from the party, Bonnie rang the bell, calling for tea to be served. Since the weather was pleasant, she thought they should adjourn to the garden. The sisters did not protest and followed her outside, content to sit wherever she wished them to.

They were led to an iron table, which had been prepared beforehand, its rounded surface enabling them to face each other equally. It was located in the garden temple, the small structure overlooking the vast green that stretched far beyond the manor. The river could be seen in the distance, and, across the way, roundly trimmed hedges and a fountain, both placed symmetrically in the centre of the garden. As they were seated, Penny watched how her sister spoke to Miss Donoghue, knowing that they had spent more time together than Yvonne would admit to. There was an ease to their discussion, as though they were merely continuing from the last time they had spoken. 

Penny thanked the butler as he placed her cup on the table. Her companions hardly noticed that the butler had arrived, much less that the tea had been served. Sipping the brew, rather daintily, she continued to watch them. They did not discern that they had excluded her from the conversation, though she did not mind. 

They scarcely knew how well they were suited. Yet, it was better, on reflection, that they should be unaware- happiness was all the more exquisite when it came naturally and unexpectedly. Penny was also happy, in her own way, to sit in the garden and sip her tea, eating the rectangular sandwiches before the others noticed that they had been consumed, and perceiving that this moment had an air of tranquillity to it. It was not often that one found friendship so close to home. Penny knew that this was a rare occurrence, for her at least, which caused her to be all the more grateful. She had never had a friend in the world, except Yvonne; now, she had two. To her, there was no finer happiness than that.


End file.
